


TF2: Meet The Pearl

by LizLuvsCupcakes



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon), Team Fortress 2
Genre: A very weird AU that I made up, AU, Dad Spy, Engie is the sane one, F/F, M/M, Medic is kind of a dick, Multi, Other, Pearl!Scout, Pink Pearl!Scout, Scout is an alien but he's sweet, Soldier hates pink, Spy is trying but he's a jerk, Tsundere Spy, awkward sniper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2020-03-17 14:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18966952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizLuvsCupcakes/pseuds/LizLuvsCupcakes
Summary: Eight red mercenaries battle over a useless plot of land that resides on a planet that, thankfully, the diamonds have not had time to collect on. No gem has ever set foot on Planet Earth. Until that is, Spy happens upon a pale pink pearl, lying in the sand that turns into a guy in a tutu. Who is he? Where did he come from? And what is this "Homeworld" he keeps referring to with horror in his eyes?  Watch as minds are changed, affections are won, cultures (human and alien alike) are learned, and seven guys, a pyro and a pearl stumble into a war among worlds to prove to giant rainbow ladies that, among other things, their scout may be a pearl, he's loud and obnoxious and fast and very much their scout. Heartwarming BS ahead, all aboard for fun and weirdness!!





	1. Just A Pearl

**Author's Note:**

> In which Spy finds a pink pearl just lying on the ground. That's probably fine. He's probably going to sell it uneventfully. Except definitely not.

 

The pearl sat at the spy's feet, shining and shimmering with the faintest pink wash in the sand. The pearl was perfectly smooth and round, about the size of a doorknob with a thin band wrapping around its circumference. Even a complete idiot who didn't know anything about geology would stare at it with dollar signs in their eyes. 

 

The Red Spy was hardly an idiot.

 

If you or I were to find a massive pink pearl in the sand during a morning stroll, we might think something along the lines of, "well, this clearly shouldn't be here. Why is it here? Where did it come from? Did somebody leave it here? I should try to find out how this got here."

 

However, our dear master of espionage saw the pearl on the ground in front of him and could only think about how much he could make from selling it, and how begrudgingly impressed his teammates would be when he showed it to them. He could see it now- ammo as far as the eye could see. A complete upgrade to the entire base. Maybe even a few gifts for his girlfriend... Not to mention the look on that uncultured oaf's face when he showed off his find that would keep him in ammo for the rest of his natural lifespan.

 

Spy smirked, and with that thought, scooped up the pearl and slid it into his pocket. Nowhere to go but up from here, it seemed.

 

~~~

 

Sniper had sat through some pretty intense rounds of solitaire but on day three of his latest game, he really couldn't be bothered. His stack of cards was ever dwindling, his focus only on his game against himself. He was a man determined to beat himself, and anyone who saw him, deep in his state of concentration, would obviously try not to bother him. 

 

"Lawrence."

 

The Sniper almost jumped out of his skin, and within a fraction of a second, the blade of his machete was inches from Spy's chest. The second he realized what had happened, he suddenly found himself wondering whether or not he could get away with team killing when a match wasn't going on. God, he hated when the Spook did that. One second, he was alone, the next there was some French tart standing behind him with that stupid shit-eating grin. 

 

"I told ya ta never sneak up on me, ya-"

 

"Ssh." The spy casually moved the blade out of the way and strode over to the crate upon which he had dropped his cards. With a sweep of his hand, he brushed them to the floor, and plopped something bright pink and round down on the centre.

 

Sniper had raised his blade to attack again with death in his eyes but froze when he saw what Spy had deposited on his makeshift table. "... wot the sod is-?"

 

"It is a pearl," said Spy smoothly.

 

"Uh... yeah, I can see it's a pearl," Lawrence said, anger melting away quickly into awe. "What's it doing here?"

 

"Adding class to your otherwise dull and unkempt abode, mon ami. Now, if you don't mind, could you please gather the others in the briefing room? They will no longer assemble at my request, after the incident. But really, I had no way of knowing Demo wasn't the BLU spy."

 

Where Sniper would have normally refused to be the bloody errand boy for this bloke and demanded that the Spook leave immediately, here, he nodded dully and rushed off to gather the others. Soon, the mercenaries (all eight of them) were gathered in the room where they kept the briefcase, staring at Spy's massive find. None of them dared to touch it, almost like if they did, it would disappear in a puff of smoke. Instead, they stared at it with gaping eyes and mouths and whispered questions.

 

"And you're sure nobody was around when you found it?" asked Engie in barely more than a whisper.

 

"Oui.  It was completely unattended, I assure you."

 

"Mein Gott, how much do you zhink ve could fetch for it?" Medic asked openly.

 

"A lot," Heavy said, almost smiling. "I think it could keep Sasha loaded for twenty years."

 

"Mrrprphhrr! Mrr Phhrprrbhrrhft!"

 

"I don't know what you're sayin', lad, but I know I agree," Demo nodded dreamily, clearly thinking of nothing but liquor.

 

"Men, somebody has clearly looked down on us and smiled," Soldier chuckled, tilting his helmet up so he could see it better.

 

However, as you have probably guessed, one man was not immediately infatuated with the pearl. The Engineer kept looking at it quizzically, glancing around at his teammates with obvious trepidation.

 

"Uh... boys? Are we sure we wanna sell this?"

 

"No, we're gonna put it in a prom dress and take it slow dancing," said Soldier with what was probably an eyeroll. "Why the hell wouldn't we, maggot?"

 

"I'm just sayin', a pearl the size of a baseball shows up and we call dibs? Sounds like a bad idea."

 

"Do not be such baby," said Heavy. "Anyone wants it back, they come take it back."

 

"I'm not," insisted Engie. "Honestly, boys, I want this here meal-ticket as much as any of Y'all-"

 

"Uh, lads?" said Sniper abruptly.

 

"-I just got the self-restraint to ask questions before makin' any stupid plans!"

 

"Oh, so now our plans are stupid?" Retorted Soldier sternly. "You were just as wowed as the rest of us, not five minutes ago!"

 

"Lads?" Sniper repeated more urgently.

 

Everyone ignored him as Engie stood up to square off against Soldier. "Maybe. But now I got my thoughts in hand, and I tell ya, somethin' ain't right here!"

 

"Mrrprhhrb!" Pyro said, gesturing wildly at Spy.

 

"Now, I wouldn't go that far, there, partner."

 

"Mrrpr! rrbrpprrprprrh!"

 

"I have already told you where I obtained our meal ticket," Spy said coldly. "I would gain nothing from lying to you. And furthermore-"

 

"LADS, THE MEAL-TICKET IS GLOWING!!"

 

Here, everyone froze and turned to look at the rock. Indeed, it was glowing, casting a faint pink light over everything that was growing stronger. It started to levitate, and around it, a figure unfurled. For a moment, it looked like one of those wooden dolls that artists have sometimes. Then a split second later, it grew features. Short hair, and what looked like a lace skirt. Finally, the light faded, and a man slowly lowered back down onto the crate. He seemed very young (we're talking somewhere in his teens), but he was indeed a guy, and the pearl was now firmly lodged in his abdomen, right where his bellybutton would be. It was visible through a diamond-shaped hole in his pale pink, sleeveless leotard. His skin was baby pink, his short, scruffy hair the same dark magenta as his soft cotton flats. The lace skirt around his waist seemed to be an answer to the question, "how light can pink physically be before it starts to become white again?"

He floated daintily down, landing on the table without so much as a sound. His face was serene and calm until he opened his eyes and looked around. When he saw the mercenaries staring at him like he'd grown another head, he made a frantic noise and attempted to leap backwards. This, of course, caused him to cavalcade off of his perch and land on his ass, where he scurried away from them to the furthest point in the room.

 

He stared at them, and they stared at him, and this went on for five minutes. Nobody said a word. Dead silent.

 

"... So, definitely not selling it, then?" asked Demo. 

Engine punched him hard.

~~~

Everybody wanted to discuss this new string of events. But nobody wanted to leave the pink man alone with their briefcase, even with the door secured. So, the eight mercenaries decided instead to congregate in a corner of the room, leaving the pink guy there on the ground, watching them.

"I don't like this," said Soldier, glancing suspiciously over at the pink stranger. "Disguising yourself as a precious jewel to infiltrate an enemy's base? Most commie trick in the book."

"don't trust 'im 's'far 's'a can throw 'im," agreed Demo, keeping the newcomer locked in a stare-down. He'd downed half a bottle of God-knows-what in the few minutes since they'd started their impromptu conference. 

"so what do we  _do_?" Sniper asked sharply. "We can't just send him on his way. What if BLUs find him?"

"Might be a spy for babies," Heavy said gruffly. 

"Okay, I don't like this as much as the next guy, but come on," Engineer sighed. "He look like a BLU to you?"

He certainly didn't. If the pink wasn't a dead giveaway he was an outsider, he had been sitting not three feet away from the briefcase for upwards of twenty minutes and hadn't even looked at it. 

Finally, after what felt like forever, Medic spoke. "Do you zhink ve should just  _ask_  him vho he is?"

"And who do you propose does that?" Engie demanded. 

Everyone looked at Engie. 

Engie rolled his eyes, but turned to the pink newcomer with a little smile. "Uh... hey there. How's it goin'?"

The guy didn't reply, but rather looked mildly irritated. Almost as if asking, "well, how do you think it's going?"

"Right, right, fair enough. Listen, we just wanna know what's goin' on." He settled on the floor across from him, adopting that friendly, calm demeanour that Texans are just able to pull out on a whim. 

This seemed to calm the pink guy slightly, and nodded, unwrapping his arms from his knees and shifting so he was kneeling in front of the engineer. 

"Why don't we start with your name?" He said when he had regained his sense.

The guy swallowed hard, and as if dreading having to speak, he said, "I am Pearl, facet 4P1J. I-"

He was abruptly cut off by the braying laughter of the soldier. The giant of a man was slapping his knee, helmet rattling on his dome, and Engie was reminded almost painfully of a bell he'd seen caught in a tornado. As he gasped for air, he spluttered, "y-you-your name is PEARL??? Th- that- son, That's a GIRL'S name!!"

"be quiet," Heavy ordered sternly. When he didn't immediately shut up, he hit him on the back of the head with a resounding ding. Then to Pearl, "you were saying?"

His cheeks were bright pink, but he went on. "I've come to ya planet to avoid bein' shattahed. Would any of you care to own a lightly used pearl? I'm programmed with a variety of entahtainment and domestic tasks." He said the last very fast, like if he spoke quickly enough, they wouldn't notice his voice. 

However, Engie did notice it, and couldn't help smiling good-naturedly. "So Boston's another planet, now?"

Pearl stared blankly back. "I do not undahstand, ah...?"

"Oh! Pardon me. Name's Dell. Dell Conagher. But you call me Engie, everyone does." He put out a hand which Pearl flinched away from. When he realized the hand was not, in fact, a weapon, he just looked between it and Engie for a few seconds. It was pretty weird. 

"... right..." Engie took his hand back, trying to shake off the weirdness of the new guy not knowing what a handshake was. Okay, so this was really weird, but "Anyway, son, whaddya mean "own"? Are you askin' to be our slave?"

Pearl tilted his head. "Yes, My Engie."

And more weirdness. Okay. Cool. "Alright. Well, here's the thing- I dunno what it's like in Boston right now, but here on earth, we don't really do slavery. Kinda gone out of fashion. You understand?"

Pearl looked absolutely decimated but nodded all the same. And suddenly, the engineer had never felt more terrible for telling anyone that they couldn't be your slave. I mean, the look on the kid's face was soul crushing. 

"... which is why," he went on, earning some indignant noises from his teammates, "we're gonna be keepin' you here 'till we decide jus' what we're gonna do with you."

"Vhat?!"

"Are you crazy, soldier?!"

"Prr brr trr!!"

"Why don't we just kill him?"

Dell's glare toward Spy was particularly murderous. "... son, could you give us a minute?"

Pearl bowed his head and finally stood up, folding his arms into what looked like a diamond across his chest, while simultaneously bowing forward. Christ, that had to hurt. 

He was quickly hustled back to the corner of the room, which I will call the Conference Corner. At least, they were no longer directing their death stares to the kid. Bad news? They had now directed them towards him. 

"We're not gonna discuss this in front of him," said Engie sternly. He didn't know why, but that thing about 'owning' and how he was 'lightly used' had bothered him. This kid was far too used to being treated like he was subhuman, far too used to being talked about like he wasn't even there, and he was not okay with it. 

So, Soldier barked, "you! Watch the prisoner!" At Pyro, who nodded and moved to stand in front of Pearl.

The door did not even close all the way before the team began laying into him. He was barely able to distinguish their voices in the resulting argument ("-cannot stay here, ya yobbo-" "-could expect this sort of thing from pyro or soldier, but-" "qvite possibly ze zingle dumbest, irresponsible, slack-jawed-" "-NO BALLERINAS IN THE ART OF WAR-!!") but the intent was clear. In their own languages, accents and slang, they were all effectively yelling, hissing and snarling the same thing- this stranger could not be permitted to stay. 

"Fellas!" Roared Engie, which did get them to quiet down long enough for him to make his case. "Now, I know we don't really know anything about the guy, but really, when has that stopped us before?"

"Pyro didn't jump out of a bloody rock in a beam of light!"

"AND A TUTU!!"

"I know!" He barked. "And I find the whole thing just as weird as you. But we can't jus' send him on his way. You heard him in there- first person he saw, offered to be my slave. My goddamn slave. You really wanna be responsible for whatever happens if we turn him loose on the side of the highway?"

Spy made a noise, as if he were about to say something. 

"And NO, Spy, we are NOT going to 'just kill him,' would you even know how to do that?"

The spy opened his mouth with a finger extended condescendingly, then he froze, and his face fell into a sort of confusion. He took his butterfly knife out of his pocket, tried and failed to think of a way to kill Pearl with it, and finally backed down. 

"Okay. Now, I don't know what we're gonna do. But the one thing I do know is-"

"Ai, y'lads hear tha'?"

"hear what?"

"exactly." 

They all finally shut up, and realized what demo meant; usually, when they left Pyro alone with someone, the flames and the screaming started within thirty seconds, at most. It had been five minutes. 

You can probably imagine the split second of panic that happened next, when they all simultaneously tried to open the door and hoped that they weren't too late to at least put the kid out.

But the Pyro was fine. He was sitting on one of the folding chairs they kept in a pile in the corner, watching the pink guy with enraptured attention. And the kid was fine. He was... dancing? Yes, it was bizarre, but he appeared to be performing some kind of one-man ballet dance for the Pyro. Their laughter was muffled, but it and the enthusiastic applause it gave were clear indicators that this was the happiest Pyro could be without setting everyone on fire. 

The seven other mercs stared for a while before Engie stepped up and cleared his throat, causing the dance to come to an immediate halt. 

"Oh my god, could you please be a little less manly?" Sighed soldier deeply as Pearl basically curtsied to them. 

"So, we jus' left you in here an' the first thing you do is start dancin'?" The engineer asked incredulously. 

"You told him to watch me. You did not tell me what you wished to have him watch me do."  
  
"Son, can you please do anything other than whatever the hell you're doing?" Asked Soldier in what I guess passes for polite. 

"I am programmed to perfohm ovah six thousand types a'dance throughout the known galaxy."

"Great. Fantastic. Wonderful. Do one of them."

Pearl nodded and broke into what you or I would recognize immediately as the "Boston Breakdance." The other mercs, however, just stared. Pyro seemed disappointed that the ballet had stopped, but was happy all the same. 

The team glanced around, and it was suddenly obvious what needed to happen next; Pyro loved this dude. He had managed to keep their attention for longer than five minutes. And it took even less time to reach the conclusion that you knew I was going to have them come to.

"Very well," Spy exhaled. "So we are keeping him."

 


	2. What Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spy isn't sure of the new arrival; What are this boy's motives? What are his secrets? What are his plans? Because they can't be as benign as cleaning the base and doing stuff for the mercs... or can they?

They were keeping him. That did not mean Spy had to be happy about it.  
  
This also did not mean that they had to bring him back with them to the house. Why they did not simply lock the boy in a broom closet somewhere on the compound was beyond him; he was surely thin enough, and based on his willingness to declare himself their property upon sight, he would not have objected. But no, everyone wanted to keep him close. 

Idiots.

Of course, it was once again to him to take responsibility for their stupidity. Although, since he brought the pearl back to them, wasn't it already his fault?... Rrgh, shut up, stay focused!

But you know, he could have forgiven this, all of it, if not for that one last slap of idiocy…

“The lock is located above the knob,” he said coldly as Engie closed the door on their new friend. “I strongly advise you use it.”

“Spy, give it a rest,” sighed Engie, making a point of turning towards him without locking the door. “Kid’s not goin’ nowhere.”  
  
Spy was leaning against the doorframe, casually rolling a cigarette between his fingers as he gazed at their resident Texan with a dazed sort of amusement. “Indeed? And what makes you think that he will not flee given the opportunity?”  
  
“Fer one, he ain’t got nowhere to go.”  
  
“How do y-”  
  
“And if he did, he’d have to get outta the property. My sentries, Heavy, Snipes… an’ I’m gonna take a wild guess that you’re gonna be skulkin’ around down here?”  
  
Spy didn’t say anything.  
  
“So, how ‘bout you lay off the kid and let me get back to work?” And with that, he strode off, leaving Spy alone. This was not a problem, of course, as he did his best work when he didn’t have a bunch of blundering idiots fumbling about and getting in his way. He simply cloaked himself and waited by the door.  
  
He knew he was being unfair. But the fact was, he was not going to trust this boy as easily as his colleagues. He had been betrayed, backstabbed, blackmailed and just about everything else in his lifetime- and every single time had occurred only when he gave his trust to another person. He had learned over time to ration his trust, to only give it to a select few in careful slivers. Never more than that, and it had to be earned. Spy had to be sure about you.  
  
He wasn’t sure about this boy.  
  
That, and he was a little bit angry he didn’t get to sell the pearl that was apparently the prisoner’s bellybutton.  
  
After what felt like way too long of waiting (there wasn’t a bathroom in that room to the best of his memory), Soldier stomped by, shouting angrily shouting at nobody in particular. By which I mean he was shouting at Demo (who he was dragging along by the ankle), but Demo was too drunk to respond or give any indication that he was, you know, alive.  
  
“-THE BIGGEST DISGRACE TO THE MERCENARY UNIFORM I’VE EVER SEEN, IN FACT, IT WAS THE BIGGEST DISGRACE TO THE COUNTRY I’VE EVER SEEN, YOU AND YOUR DAMN PROBLEM ARE GONNA GET US ALL KILLED ONE DAY, MAGGOT, NOT TO MENTION THE DAMAGE YOU JUST DID TO THE LIVING ROOM, NINE GALLONS OF HAND SANITIZER PUKED ONTO THE DAMN RUG, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG THAT’S GONNA TAKE TO CLEAN, SOMEONE’S GOTTA MOP THAT SHIT YOU CROSS-DRESSING CYCLOPS-”  
  
He eventually stomped out of sight, Demo still non-responsive as the Soldier carried his rant on out of earshot. Spy couldn’t help but think it odd that Soldier was this upset about Demo’s drunken antics at this point, as they happened every day, but he didn’t have time to think about that- the door that the Engineer had stupidly left unlocked was stirring.  
  
Although, to the credit of the engineer's judgement, the prisoner didn't appear to be causing trouble. The boy- Pearl, he had called himself Pearl, but the Spy was absolutely not going to call him that- poked his head out the door and watched the direction the yelling was quickly travelling down for a moment, then down the direction from which it had come. He stepped out, quietly shutting the door behind him before making his way down the corridor.  
  
Finally, thought Spy as he quickly began his invisible pursuit. The boy moved swiftly and quietly through the halls, glancing in open rooms he passed, and quickly moving on when they didn’t have whatever it was he was looking for. But that did beg the question of what he was looking for. Maybe he was trying to get back to the briefcase, believing it to be in the house? Or was he trying to find the ideal spot to let in his people and start an ambush? Or worse yet, maybe he was trying to get into the personnel files of the different Mercs so he could learn how to defeat them.  
  
No, as it turned out. The boy finally entered the eighth room, and when Spy followed him, he was initially confused. The room he had chosen was totalled- a bookcase had been knocked over, the books scattered around the floor like autumn leaves. A floor which, incidentally, was covered in… something. The smell was absolutely disgusting- both sterile-smelling and reeking of bile at the same time. A box- his box of mementoes of his various personas, he realized with some anger- had been knocked to the ground, its contents scattered in the puddle of vomited hand sanitizer like trash. Some of his photographs had flopped onto the couch, which seemed to have had its cushions tossed asunder. Soldier’s rocket launcher and a few spare shells were left forgotten in the corner. The controlled chaos of their living quarters had been turned onto its ear and other than a few scattered books and old dusty objects, there should have been nothing of interest to the stranger in here.  
  
He observed the chaos, then moved promptly to the bookshelf, beginning the arduous task of getting it back upright. He groaned and struggled under the weight, and was barely able to lift it to a thirty-degree angle. After about ten minutes of struggling, Spy sighed inwardly and, while remaining cloaked, stepped over the mess and heaved with all his might. The pink boy looked shocked for a moment as the case seemed to grow lighter, but then looked nothing short of pleased with himself as it settled back against the wall. Beaming like an idiot, he moved to the books floating like literary islands in a sea of bile.   
  
Spy watched him tidy for a while, feeling genuinely confused. He didn’t appear to be searching for anything, just picking up the books and setting them back on the shelves (after drying them as best he could). He showed no interest in searching for things hidden in the books, in taking any of the pages or even reading them. He was only cleaning the room. As he watched, he puzzled over why this would be a good idea; maybe he was trying to make himself look as good as possible, to lull them into a false sense of security? Did he think that he could earn the protection of the Soldier if he worked to appease him?  
  
Or, put in a more reasonable, willing-to-trust voice in Spy’s head, maybe the boy is just cleaning the room. Suddenly, he was reminded of what the boy had said back at the compound;  _“I'm programmed with a variety of entahtainment and domestic tasks.”_  
  
Efficiently, as if he were a machine, the boy cleaned the rest of the room. The books and returned them to their place, the couch cushions were re-established on their frame,  and the puddle was painstakingly mopped (there were truly incredible things under that couch. Finally, he picked up the box and began depositing Spy’s mementoes into it. He plucked up each item from the floor, carefully examining them as if he had never seen anything like them before. He looked puzzled, but more politely curious than anything.  
  
Right, that was it. Spy was not going to just stand there and let this stranger rifle through his possessions, no matter how inconsequential they may be. With a flick of his watch, he was visible again. “Ahem?”  
  
The boy paused in the middle of figuring out exactly how a pair of dog tags operated, turned to spy and bowed to him, doing that diamond thing with his arms again. Even he couldn’t deny it was kind of painful to look at. Could limbs even bend that way? And while bowing that deeply? How was the kid holding it for so long?  
  
Regardless, Spy kept up is cooly professional demeanour. “And what do you think you’re doing?” he asked, selecting a cigarette from his case.  
  
“I am cleaning this room, my… My, uh… uh, Your Clarity,” he told Spy, confused for only a second.  
  
“I can see that- but why, exactly, did you think it was a good idea?”  
  
“The loud, angry one said it needed to be cleaned.”  
  
Well, there was no better way to describe the Soldier. “Ah, what I mean is, why did you assume that the task fell to you in particular?”  
  
“It is a Pearl’s duty to keep the order of the living space,” he replied as if that was all that was needed.  
  
Spy observed the boy critically. “I see,” he said coldly. “In that case, you should have no issue giving back my possessions.” His gloved hand extended toward him.   
  
Pearl picked the box up and handed it back, smiling serenely as the Frenchman plucked his possessions from him. Wordlessly, he got on his knees and began examining the puddle.   
  
Here, Spy could have simply walked away, let the pink man alone to his own devices, maybe watch as some hilarious hijinks ensued. Maybe he’d try to sponge up the puddle with his tutu.  
  
Of course, Spy did not do that, although why he did not, he could never say. Maybe it was pity, or maybe he was just starting to feel guilty for how adamant he was about killing the kid when he legitimately wanted to help. Or maybe it was the work of a fanfiction writer who didn’t want the two characters to separate just yet. Either way, he sighed and left the room, returning with a bucket and a rag he had borrowed from some broom closet or another. Pearl accepted them eagerly, and within seconds was scrubbing the floor of sick on his hands and knees.   
  
He still held the dog tags as he scrubbed the floor, the metal scraping quietly on the ground with each stroke. Eventually, Spy decided that standing there and staring at the boy would not get him any information.  
  
“So,” he began, cool as you please. “In which military did you serve?”  
  
Pearl turned to him, with the same blank confusion that had been there when Engie asked if Boston was another planet. “I do not undahstand, your Clarity.”  
  
“You like my tags, do you not?”  
  
“Hm?” he looked down and realized with a squeak that he was still clutching them in his fist. Immediately, he dropped his gaze to the floor and reached up to hand them back.  
  
Spy took the chain in his hands and stared at the flat, metal discs for a while. Suddenly, an idea struck him. A stupid, ridiculous, impossible idea that he voiced after a brief second of silent contemplation. “Do you know what these are?”  
  
Pearl glanced up at him, quickly broke eye contact and shook his head.  
  
“Do you like them?”  
  
“My opinions are irrelevant.”  
  
The spook seemed to digest this declaration, staring down at the tags with a renewed kind of interest. Now, it had been a hot minute since he had been to Boston, but he did not remember anyone like this. Maybe the boy had managed to escape some situation or another? But that didn’t explain the pearl or the fascination with his tags.  
  
“Irrelevant, hm?... but you do like them?”  
  
The pearl bit his lip. “They possess certain aesthetic qualities that are subjectively intriguing, and holding them brings me a sense of peace. Please forgive me.”  
  
Spy stared down at the boy, the tiniest hints of softness creeping into his steely gaze. More stone hard now. Then he knelt down in front of the boy, taking the tags by the chain and draping them over the boy’s head. He flinched for half a second, then looked down at them, then up at Spy, as if asking for verification. Without missing a beat, Spy grabbed a second rag from the bucket and set about helping him with the mess.  
  
“Tell me, what is it about those that you find so… intriguing?” Spy finally asked after a long pause.  
  
Pearl glanced down at them, smiling as they jingled with every swipe of the floor with his rag. “Oh, my old di- ah, ownah used to pahmit me to interact with small noise-making devices such as these. They provided me with subjective-”  
  
“You could just say you liked it.”  
  
“I liked it.”  
  
“... you really aren’t from Boston, are you?”  
  
“What’s a Boston, Your Clarity?”  
  
“Spy.”  
  
“I do not-”  
  
“Spy. You call me Spy. Not “Your Clarity.” Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes, my Spy.”  
  
By this point, the puddle was basically gone. Spy tossed his rag casually into the bucket and stood up. “You may keep the tags,  _Mon Petit_.”  
  
Pearl looked shocked. “But-”  
  
“Take them. Jeremy was a trash persona, anyway.”  
  
I mean, really, who would WANT to be the loudmouthed, Massachusetts-born youngest of eight sons? Spy still had no idea what he had been thinking. He must have been drunk at the time.  
  
Pearl, however, seemed delighted. The smile on his face looked as if Spy had just handed him a crisp fifty-dollar bill. “Thank you, My Spy, thank you, thank you, thank you,” he gushed, bowing his head as he arched his arms into that diamond-thing again.  
  
Spy nodded and walked away, leaving Pearl alone in the reassembled room. As soon as he was gone, the boy engaged in the manliest of squeals and began (judging by the soft thud-thud-thud-thud and the jingling of tags emanating from the said room) jumping up and down with them in delight.  
  
As he listened, the red spy couldn’t help but let the faintest of smiles tug at his lips. As annoyingly meek as the boy was, his utter delight at being given such a small, unwanted token was admittedly charming. And, yes, it was nice that Soldier could stop with that ungodly yelling, as the room had been cleaned.   
  
And… ugh, fine, perhaps the Engineer’s instincts about the boy being harmless were correct.  
  
Perhaps Spy didn’t have to hate the boy.  
  
… though he still would have to do something about that name. “Pearl” was simply not an acceptable name for a young man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gee, I wonder what Pearl's name is going to be? It certainly isn't obvious.


	3. What's In A Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jane Doe insists that the team find a less girly name for their newest member, and stuff around the base begins disappearing without any explanation or warning.

For the next week or so, the team and the pearl fell into something resembling a routine; the mercs would just go about their day, making awkward, sidelong glances toward the pink boy, and the pink boy made a point of doing menial tasks around the house that the team would have normally bickered for hours on end about doing. So, all in all, not bad.

 

But Sniper began to notice that the boy had some admittedly jarring habits; referring to somebody as “my” and then their person’s name, for example, or the fact that he would never walk with you, always behind you, around three feet back. He would stare at you as you did something, and then when you understandably looked up at him, he would glance away from you with a definite flush to his already pink cheeks.

 

Considering how weird everybody else around him was, though, the other mercs didn’t really have a problem with that. But they couldn’t deny that it was weird that every now and again you’d catch a glimpse of pink in your peripheral, or feel the prickle of wide, curious eyes upon you. Credit where credit was due, though, you wouldn’t notice the kid was following you for hours, maybe days at a time.

 

For instance, one particular day, Engie was working on one of his sentries, repairing (non-existent) weaknesses and adding improvements that you best hope you weren’t on the receiving end of. The others knew to leave him alone when he did this; interrupting him while he was working was one of the quickest ways to get a wrench-shaped dent in your skull.

 

This was why, when he found himself muttering, “now where'd I put that darn…?” As he searched for his screwdriver, a pink hand appearing out of nowhere with it nearly sent him out of his overalls.

 

He flung his wrench in the direction from which the hand had come, and Pearl immediately threw his arms up over his face, cowering away from him as he clutched the screwdriver.

 

“Christ on his throne, son, don’t sneak up on me,” gasped the engineer, clutching his chest. “You been there the whole time?”

 

It seemed to occur to the boy that he was not going to be destroyed, as he peered cautiously over his forearm at the engineer. He nodded. “F-forgive me, My Dell, I simply noticed you were in need of your, um, device.” He tentatively reached out the screwdriver again, ready to pull back at any display of hostility.

 

Engie accepted the screwdriver, feeling a bit sheepish. “Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it. Lose my own head if it weren’t screwed on. Thanks, kid.”

 

Silence fell back over them for another beautiful while, with Pearl standing behind Engie with his hands folded and his gaze curious, and Engie just as productive as ever.

 

After what felt like forever with absolutely no talking or noise of any kind, other than the ambient noise of Engie’s work and an occasional thanks for passing a needed tool, there was a loud, rolling _BOOOOOOOOOOOM_ that rocked the entire house, and sent the Pearl’s hands over his ears. This was followed by a loud CRASH followed by the Soldier’s voice yelling, “SEE?!?! I TOLD YOU IT WAS THIRTY FEET!! TWENTY AMERICAN BIG ONES, IN MY POCKET, YA BET-LOSING COMMIE!!!”

 

Engie sighed deeply. Well, the silence had been nice while it had lasted. “Son, why don’t ya go see what that’s all about?”

 

“Yes, My Engineer,” The pearl said, and he walked out with a satisfied smile that reflected peace in a room well cleaned.

 

Meanwhile, Engie reached for a wrench he had set down not a second ago, only to realize it was not there anymore. Not wanting to call Pearl back, he looked under his bench, behind his bacon bag, even in the garbage- nothing. The wrench was gone. So were a lot of his tools in fact. The sentry was basically finished, but he still couldn’t find the wrench or most of his other tools. Where had they gone?

 

~~~

“DID YA SEE THAT, SONNY?!” Yelled Soldier as he tried to stand up from the crumpled pile of crates that had been completely decimated under the crash of his little stunt. “CLEARED PERFECTLY!!! AND YOU SAID I COULDN’T DO IT!!!”

 

“Mrr rr!! Mr rrd r prrdrrt trr rrt!!” Pyro attempted to say, hands on its hips as it stared disapprovingly at him through its gas mask.

 

“Oh, what’s that son, I couldn’t hear you over the sound of how RIGHT I WAS!!!” Soldier was beaming through several missing teeth and a cracked helmet, the offending bazooka now lying lengthwise across his legs, trapping him in the mess.

 

Pyro threw up its hands and walked off, leaving Soldier to laugh to himself, finally sitting there with smug satisfaction.

 

“Alright, now to get out of here,” Mr. Doe said out loud to himself. Thankfully, he was saved the trouble as something moved one of the shattered pieces of crate and (Since they were filled with cannon balls) he more or less fell out of his pile, landing in a heap at the feet of the pink new guy.

 

Admittedly, it was nice to be out of the pile. But on the other hand, the boy was still very much pink and still staring at him with those big ol’ doe eyes. And those weird triangle hands…

 

Yep, still not mercenary material.

 

“Thanks,” he muttered anyway, tossing off the rocket launcher and climbing uncomfortably to his feet.

 

“I’m glad I was able to assist, my-”

“Just say ‘you’re welcome,’ son.”

 

“Of course, M-”

 

“That’s ‘yes, sir’ to you!”

 

“Yes, my Sir.”

 

The soldier observed the boy critically, but finally seemed to decide that that was close enough to what he wanted. “You want me to call you ‘Pearl,’ don’t you, son?”

 

“My desires are-”

 

“I’m not calling you Pearl, that’s ridiculous.” Soldier paced uncomfortably, using his weapon as a sort of cane. “Can’t have you walkin’ around, using a girl’s name… You’re not even in uniform.” He gestured without looking to Pearl’s general appearance. “If we went out there calling you Pearl, the BLUs would tear you apart like wet tissue paper.” He continued to pace back and forth, muttering every name of every soldier he knew as he glanced up at the boy. “Lesse here… Kevin? Nah, you’re not the ‘gut-a-azni-while-talking-on-the-phone’ type. Daniel? Ugh, god no, that’d be an insult to Daniel. Greg? Now that’s an insult to YOU…”

 

Pearl didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what the hell the soldier was on about with Blue Diamond and uniforms and names, but he did gather that something about calling himself Pearl really bothered the Soldier. And Good Pearls didn’t bother people. He had to fix this immediately.

 

He glanced down at the pendants that the Spy had given him. Human language had been etched into them, presumably with some sort of primitive device. Strange, sticklike letters, forming some kind of word, ah what was it Spy had said again…?

 

“Uh, would Jeremy be an appropriate substitue, My Sir?”

 

Soldier stopped his pacing abruptly. He had been midway through debating with himself about whether or not the kid could pull of Bill (they had sent what was left of him home in a matchbox), but then he looked him up and down once more.

 

“Hm. Jeremy, huh…?” He scratched his chin and considered it. Then for the first time since they had met, he smiled. “Knew one, a long time ago. Mail guy, I think. Liked his coffee a bit too much. Don’t know what happened to him. So I guess it’s not like you’d be dishonouring a fallen soldier…”

 

He chuckled softly, then nodded approvingly to the pearl. “Not a bad pick, son. Not bad at all!” He clapped Jeremy hard on the shoulder, nearly sending him to the ground. “Alright- you’re dismissed.”

 

Jeremy beamed and bowed to him once more, arms in that familiar diamond shape, before scurrying off. Soldier sighed and turned back to the mess he presumed he would have to clean now… only to find nothing there. No damaged cannonballs, no bits of shattered crates, just a patch of seared grass upon which they had just sat before he had honourably won his bet.

 

So he didn’t have to re-crate them. Great. But _where were they?_

 

Not his problem anymore, he supposed; they had just evapourated. Things that evapourated usually stopped being his problems. So he just dragged his rocket launcher back to his room to begin the arguous process of popping his spine back into place.

 

~~~

 

This went on for the rest of the week- the mercs would barely notice Jeremy standing in the corner of a room they were in as they did whatever, and then a few minutes later, something would be missing. Ammo, guns, food, blueprints, didn’t even matter what, as long as it was not nailed down, it would be gone if you didn’t have it immediately in your hands.

 

Nobody could figure out what was going on. Until one day, Heavy came charging into the common room, looking more than a little annoyed.

 

The door opened with a _BANG_ , and Heavy was standing there with death in his eyes. “WHERE IS SANDVICH?!” he demanded of the seven other confused mercenaries.

 

Sniper and Engie immediately dropped their cards and held up their hands like they were being robbed. “Easy there, big feller, we-”

 

“SANDVICH!!” He grabbed the table they were using for their game and held it aloft over his head.

 

“We ain’t seen yer sandvich!” Sniper yelped, grabbing his kukri, just in case. “Ya prob’ly _ate_ it!”

 

“Misha, stop!!” Medic jumped up from the sofa and stood in front of him, arms outstretched as if he had any hope of catching the table should Heavy decide to throw it. “You are better zhan zhis!”

 

Heavy stared down at the doctor, the flames in his eyes going down only slightly (as did the table) as he, at the very least, toned the need for death well down. “But it was not just one sandvich, Doktor,” he said as if that cleared everything up. “I wanted to make new sandvich. All food is gone.”

 

At this declaration, Medic immediately looked confused. “Ve just got a new shipment zhis morning.”

 

“Da. But all food is still gone.”

 

Everyone looked confused, and (after convincing Heavy to set the table down) ran in unison to the kitchen to look. Sure enough, the kitchen was spotless. As in, it had been perfectly cleaned, but not a scrap of food could be found anywhere.

 

“What in the sam hill is goin’ on here?” Engie asked incredulously, straightening up from the pantry and scratching his head.

 

“Food is gone,” Heavy said again. “And so is sandvich!” He reached to the counter for something to throw, as it was always usually littered with various cooking utensils that nobody bothered to put away. Of course, they were all gone, the cooking station scrubbed and polished to perfection and void of projectiles, much to Heavy’s massive disappointment.

 

“Well, now wit are we aft the ?” Demo demanded frantically, clutching a half-empty bottle as if he was afraid it, too, might evaporate.

 

“Alright, alright. Oi’ll go git more food if big head ‘ere can promise to leave all the furniture on the ground,” The Sniper finished with a pointed look at the Heavy, who was clearly debating whether or not the dishwasher could be used as a blunweapon.

 

Once he was assured that everything that was not designed to be a weapon was not going to be used as such, Sniper was off on his impromptu adventure to the nearest town. This was getting bloody ridiculous. Now the bloody food was vanishing? What next, were the beds gonna disappear? The house itself? His camper van? He could feel his nails dig into the steering wheel at the very idea. Or worse yet, what if it was something important, like the briefcase, or their weapons? How the hell were they gonna explain that to the boss? _“Hey, sorry, the intelligence and everything we used to guard the intelligence is gone. Yep, just gone. Nah, we dunno where it all went. Op, and now the house is gone. So that’s a thing.”_

 

His reverie was broken as he started to drive off, there was a loud crash and a sharp, surprised cry from behind him.

 

He glanced to his rearview for half a second and caught a glimpse of something pink on the ground behind him.

 

“Jeremy?” As if it could have been anyone else. When he finally could stop and turn around, there he was, lying on his ass on the floor of his van, looking entirely dishevelled, a bottle of some kind of cleaning substance in one hand and a very well used rag in the other. The rest of the camper was, of course, spotless. “What are you doin’ in here, mate?”

 

Jeremy looked both frantic and panicked, but also terrified to move, like he had never experienced anything like what the camper van was doing to him, but was not about to actually voice such. “I-- I was cleanin’ this room, an’ the room started movin’. An’ I couldn’t figure out what I did wrong, so I decided not to move.”

 

The Bushman sighed. “Well, get up here then.” He gestured to the seat next to him.

 

Jeremy immediately obliged, scrambling up and into the seat, knees hugged tightly to his chest.

 

The next five minutes were silent, broken by Jeremy, which startled Lawrence more than he would care to admit. “Is everythin’ alright, my Sniper?” he asked quietly. “Y’seem troubled.”

 

“Ah, nah, everythin’s fI've. Jus’ hate shoppin’ is all. But, you heard Big Head in there. He needs his damn sandvich, so the whole world’s gotta stop.”

 

Jeremy blinked emptily.

 

“Should I getcha somethin’, too? I’d kill for some chocolate.”

 

Still no response.

 

“... Yeah, I don’t care for that question, either. Tell ya what- how ‘bout ya jus’ come in with me an’ look?”

 

This was how Sniper came to be in a very, VERY old convenience store (The thing was probably renovated last in 1809), staring longingly at a pile of dusty chocolate bars as though they were the world’s greatest treasure, next to his very pink companion.

 

“Holy Dooley, put this off longer than I thought, wish we could take all these.” He glanced away from the more-beautiful-than-it-should’ve-been pile of confectionaries to stare sadly at the crumpled notes in his hand. “But this is all we got… maybe we can find somethin’ on sale.”

 

He turned around, asking, “Jeremy, you seen-?” only for the question to die on his tongue to see that the chocolate was now gone.

 

“Yes, My Sniper?” Jeremy prompted sweetly.

 

… You know, you would think Lawrence would have wanted to know where the hell the pile had gone in the few seconds in which he wasn’t looking, but at this point, he was just done asking questions.

 

“... Nothin’.”

 

But even so, he couldn’t help the little voice in his brain that nagged at him as he stared at the pink man. Was Jeremy… stealing stuff? But where would he be hiding his ill-gotten gains that you couldn’t see? You could see EVERYTHING. Still, he kept Jeremy within his line of sight for the duration of the trip, as he couldn’t shake the feeling that the pink man wasn’t telling him something.

 

~~~

 

Sniper didn’t figure it out until the next day, in the middle of battle, when everything started to go to shit.

 

There had been great debate about what to do with Jeremy while they were off at battle that day. Spy wanted to simply lock him in a room and tell him not to leave. Medic wanted to assign him a menial task, say for instance counting his scalpels, and simply leave him at that. Heavy wanted him to stay back and cook.

 

The one thing that most everyone could agree upon, was that allowing their new pearl friend to accompany them to their perverse, murderous version of the Daily Grind was a bad idea. He would be slaughtered within seconds, he was like sending up a pink flare that would tell the BLUs exactly where they were, (and as Soldier reminded him, with increasing volume) real soldiers wouldn’t be caught dead dressed as the swan prince. Notice I said nearly everyone; though Sniper faced harsh opposition, he somehow convinced the other members of his team to allow him to bring Jeremy along. It was just an intel mission, he’d insisted. He would keep the kid in the nest with him, and it was unlikely that the other team would see him up there with him. And, though he wouldn’t dare admit it out loud, since the Store Incident, he wanted to keep an eye on Jeremy. He’d insisted everyone keep their rooms locked, despite the weird looks he’d recieved.

 

Finally, the team did agree to bring the Pearl along, although they told Lawrence that it was on him if anything happened. Jeremy was not programmed into the respawn yet, and medic and Engie were still on the fence about whether or not they could even do that. 

 

However, to be fair to him, Snicer had been right on every point- Jeremy had been completely silent as he sat in his tower and watched for targets, idiots who dared try to go after his intelligence. His companion flinched every time he turned somebody's head into a little pink cloud, but made no effort to cover his ears. He didn’t give away his position, annoy him, or otherwise get in the way, and for once, it seemed like the mission would be a simple in-out affair.

 

He’d had no way of knowing that the idiots he worked with would fuck up so fantastically with getting the damn briefcase. So, as he watched them running around like idiots without a plan, he couldn’t help but glance nervously behind at Jeremy, who watched with patience for his next order.

 

“Is everything alright, my Sniper?” he asked quietly.

 

He sighed and stood up from his crate. “No. It ain’t. Those morons couldn’t find the damn case if their lives depended on it. Look, how fast can you run?”

 

The Pearl looked taken aback by the question, but tentatively hopeful at the same time. “... what?”

 

“We gotta go get the case ourselves, idiot. Don’t fall behind. Can ya do that?”

 

Jeremy grinned ear to ear and nodded eagerly, and off they went.

 

He did not, as it turns out, fall behind. In fact, within seconds of hitting the ground, Lawrence found he was having difficulty keeping up with him. Jesus, he had to be going, what, thirty, forty kilometers an hour? His arms and legs flailed from side to side as they raced across the BLUs compound, completely lacking any of the grace and elegance that he bore when he walked. Every now and then, he would glance over his shoulder to see if Lawrence was still behind him, or to ask for further direction when they came to a fork in the path. He had a small, tentative grin slowly spreading across his face, as if he were having fun, but didn’t want to enjoy it too much, in case Sniper suddenly ordered him to stop.

 

Finally, after what felt like forever, they found the room with the case. It hadn’t even been touched, Sniper reflected as he clutched the massive stitch forming in his ribs and fought to catch his breath. Those idiots hadn’t even made it this far.

 

As Sniper tried to get his breath back, Jeremy calmly walked over to the table and picked up the briefcase, smiling sweetly as he extended it to his companion. “Will there be anything else, My Sniper?”

 

The Aussie took the case gratefully. “Y… Ye… Yeah, there… there will,” he wheezed as he straightened up. “Now… Now we gotta-”

 

A butterfly knife dug into his Achilles tendon. Lawrence screamed and fell to one knee as the spy uncloaked himself and went to grab the briefcase, laughing. The laughter stopped immediately, however, when the Pearl grabbed him with surprising strength and glared up at him with an expression that a stern school teacher might fixate you with for talking during her lecture.

 

“That case is needed by My Sniper,” he informed the BLU spy. And then with seemingly no effort, he threw him as hard as he could out the door. He hit the wall a good three metres down the hall with a loud CRACK!

 

Lawrence paid attention to none of this. He wasn’t even watching as the briefcase re-entered the pearl’s grasp. He did, however, notice as Jeremy knelt beside him and gently wiped away involuntary tears of agony with gentle, soft fingers. “What do you need?” He asked softly.

 

“I… I…” Sniper swallowed down the quiver in his voice; he could hear the thunderous footsteps of the soldier cavalcade down the stairs; attracted no doubt by his Spy’s sudden death, he would soon be upon them, and with one leg down and a pink man who had no idea how anything worked, there was little to no hope of getting the case into their base. But still, he had to try. “I need t’get outta here wit’ that case," he told Jeremy through gritted teeth, in a voice made coarse by the tremour he was desperately trying to keep from surfacing. "Can ya get me an’ that case outta here?”

 

The pearl’s face adopted a look of serious determination, and he nodded once before taking Lawrence by the hand and standing up. There was no tug to pull him up to his feet which would have been impossible, rather, all of him seemed to be lifted off the ground at once. He was trapped in a cone of some kind of pink light, like the crazy people in those weird newspapers you see sometimes for cheap. Jeremy pulled him very close, and then everything went bright white.

 

~~~

 

The one good thing about respawning right before the end of a Battle was that you negated any point of visiting the locker room. But that was where Jeremy found the other mercs upon running inside, all sulking in the shame of having lost the easiest and least exciting type of match to engage in. Either sitting on the bench with a newfound interest in their combat boots (such as Demo, Engie or Soldier) or standing in a corner and sulking (like Medic or Spy, though Heavy had his arm around Medic). Only Pyro seemed unphased, whistling quietly as they carefully placed tools into their respective locker. They all, however, jolted when a woman’s voice from the sky (which startled Jeremy more than he was willing to admit) boomed, “VICTORY,” Followed by the sound of people cheering.

 

“What in tarnation-?!” Engie looked around and finally caught sight of Jeremy, standing in the doorway, holding the BLU briefcase. Slowly, the others followed his gaze, and stared for a minute. BLU on pink was suddenly the most shocking, most beautiful colour scheme that anyone could hope to see.

 

There was a full sixty seconds of silence before Demo released a bark of laughter. He leapt over the others and rushed to the pearl, clapping him on the back and laughing insanely.

 

“HOLY CHRIST,” he bellowed, loud enough for Red and Blu themselves to hear. “ _PINKY_ GOT THE CASE! _PINKY!!!_ ”

 

Soldier joined in the laughter almost immediately. “BOYS, WE’VE BEEN OUTCLASSED BY A BALLERINA!!”

 

The two’s laughter was more than contagious enough on its own, and the entire team was soon joining in. Laughing, voicing various disbeliefs and “Attaboys” and Demo’s repeated cries of “IT WAS JEREMY, LADS!! THE FOOKIN’ DANCY BOY!! _JEREMY_ GOT THE BRIEFCASE!!” rang throughout the base as Jeremy stood in the middle of it all, smiling more widely and genuinely than anyone had seen as of yet. He allowed the various affirmative pats that humans seemed so fond of, and to be honest, they were not entirely unpleasant.

 

Finally, as the team managed to collect themselves, Demo ruffled the kid’s hair and declared, “We ought t’celebrate this, lads! Don’t suppose y’got any more miracles on ye, Laddie?”

 

Jeremy beamed and, without hesitation, began pulling various food items out of his belly button. Sandviches, bags of crisps, chocolate, bottles of liquor, you name it, he pulled it out of there.

 

Soldier knelt down by the bounty laid out before them, gaping. “DID YOU JUST PULL ALL THIS OUT OF YOUR BELLY BUTTON, SOLDIER?!”

 

“Is that my wine collection?” Spy asked angrily.

 

“It was not currently in use,” Jeremy shrugged.

 

The team glanced at each other. “Uh… son, you got… other stuff in there? Like, uh, my wrenches, for example?”

 

The bellybutton glowed again, and Jeremy produced said wrenches. Engie accepted them, looking between them and the Pearl in utter confusion. For the next ten minutes, the team requested various items, and Jeremy produced them without question.

 

“How long you been holdin’ out on us, boy?” Demanded Dell as he accepted his phillip’s head back.

 

“The items were not currently in use.”

 

“How come ya ne’er gave ‘em back?!” Demo borderline screeched.

 

“None of you requested their return.”

 

Abruptly, Engie realized that there were only eight celebrating this unlikely victory. “Jeremy,” he said quietly, looking around as if the one he sought might have simply been out of sight, “where’s Sniper?”

 

Jeremy blinked. “He ordered me to get him out of there.”

 

“Where is he, Jeremy?”

 

Jeremy calmly handed the case to Heavy, and held his arms out in a kind of cradle. Before everyone’s wondering eyes, his bellybutton began glowing with a bright pink kind of light, and within a second, there was Lawrence Mundy, sans an Achilles tendon, bloody and confused, cradled in the Pearl’s arms like an oversized baby.

 

Nobody said anything for a minute. Then Lawrence broke the silence with a tentative, “I found our stuff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your wonderful suggestions! Do keep them coming, as I read every single one. And yes, to be clear, this pearl will have the same powers as the Pearl from the original show, Steven Universe. I honestly did not think anyone would read this, so thank you so much. I'm sorry this took so long, I am very lazy.


	4. Hey Mr. Sandman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team acquires a scout, and Spy learns more about their new arrival, who in turn learns more about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Take it. JUST TAKE IT. Training is next, I promise. But for now, sand fluff with dad!

“Okay… so. Let me see if I can ask zhis correctly.”

 

“Yes, My Medic?”

 

“You have a pocket dimension inside your belly button, in vhich you can hold anyzhing for an indefinite amount of time.”

 

“Yes, My Medic.”

 

“You can also run-” he turned to the notes he'd collected while interviewing and subsequently healing Sniper. “-at least forty kilometers per hour und are strong enough to send zhe enemy spy flying vith a single blow?”

 

“Yes, My Medic.”

 

“Is zhat all you can do?”

 

The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. He then turned to the pink man sitting on his table and steepled his fingers. 

 

“... Vell, zhen it seems I only have one qvestion for you, my friend.”

 

Jeremy the Pearl nodded patiently.

 

“Okay. Now, leesten closely.”

 

Another nod, accompanied by a gentle, “go on, my medic?”

 

“Vhat. _Are you?_ ”

 

The pink man immediately looked confused. “I am a Pearl.”

 

“Ja, I know zhat. Vhat is a Pearl?”

 

“A Pearl is a servant designed for-”

 

“‘Designed for various aesthetic, storage, entertainment und cleaning purposes,’ ja, I know, you said zhis,” the German doctor finished impatiently. “I vant to know vhere a Pearl is obtained und vhat, specifically, a Pearl _is!_ ”

 

Jeremy flinched slightly at the sudden outburst, but hastily replied, “uh, well, I was harvested in the waters of Andromeda 5, and-”

 

“But vhat does all of zhat mean?! Vhat _is_ Andromeda 5?”

 

“Andromeda 5 is the harvest planet for all made-to-order Pearls.”

 

Medic’s left eye twitched. 

 

The spy, who had been leaning against the wall of the infirmary and watching with intrigue, sighed internally. This interrogation had been going on for upwards of twenty minutes now, and frankly, it was getting depressing to watch. Never send a medic in to do a Spy’s job… “Doctor, tell me, what exactly is the point of all of this?”

 

Medic turned, looking as if he had forgotten Spy was there. “Vell, if ve are going to be sending zhis boy out into battle, it vould do vell to know zhe extent of his abilities, ja?”

 

“Perhaps,” Spy replied coolly. “But consider this; what if we have already seen the extent of his abilities? Is it not already impressive to have a pocket dimension in ones belly button?”

 

“Vhile zhat is possible, _Herr Spy_ , I am very certain-”

 

“You were also very certain you could get your hand out of that box.”

 

“I zhought ve agreed to never bring zhat up again!!”

 

Spy smirked. “Point being, you do not always exercise the best judgement, Mon Ami. Even if this boy has further abilities, there is no telling how useful in battle they may or may not be. And this discussion is not getting you closer to uncovering any.”

 

The frenchman spared another glance toward the table. “Also, if I may, I think our young man might be at his limit. Perhaps past it.” He gestured to the boy, who was hugging his knees as he sat on the table, glancing around the room with increasing panic. Everything was either silver and sharp or jarred and disgusting, and if you didn’t know that the doctor was a generally affable man who played the accordion, then you would take one look around his infirmary and run for the hills. Anyone with a functioning eyeball could see that Jeremy the Pearl was fighting off a mad desire to do just that.

 

“But-!” Medic attempted to argue one more time. 

 

“ _Non_ ,” Spy firmly told him. “Jeremy will be assigned a class, and I will arrange his living quarters. That will be all for today.”

 

Medic made a noise of wanting to protest with a raised finger, but seemed to dispel his own point with a glance at Jeremy. He finally sighed. “Fine,” he shrugged, attempting to play off his disappointment. “Anozher time, zhen. Off you go.”

 

He was barely through speaking when Jeremy finally did run, leaping from the table and sending himself through the double doors in a blur of pink and a flurry of footsteps. 

 

The spy stepped out of the infirmary to find Jeremy plastered against the wall, looking both terrified and relieved. He was not breathing heavily, which the spy found unusual, but what could you do? The two locked eyes for three seconds, before Jeremy broke the contact, face flushed a dark magenta as he straightened, hands clasped tightly in front of him.

“Come along, then,” Spy said in a much gentler voice than he meant. “Let’s go find you a job.”

 

He said this as if he had no idea what the boy would end up doing. There were only nine classes, and several of them could be eliminated right off the bat- he was far too scrawny to pass as a heavy weapons expert or a soldier, a soldier, and asking a stranger who barely seemed to understand the very concept of human biology to be a Demoman was a bad idea.

 

Besides, by the only reasonable account of their unexpected victory, the only weapons in Jeremy’s arsenal had been his two feet and his bellybutton. At least thirty kilometres an hour, according to the Bushman. There was exactly one job that required that kind of speeds that most humans couldn’t achieve with a bicycle, much less their own feet.

 

Sure enough, Heavy confirmed the only real option with one look at the boy; “you are very fast and very small. You are new scout.”

 

Jeremy seemed to have no idea what this meant, but smiled and nodded nonetheless as he was handed the basic uniform for the Red Team’s hit-and-runner. He produced another cone of light from his abdomen, and it was gone. Back into the… pocket dimension… in the precious gem… in his abdomen… that was still somehow not the weirdest thing about this whole thing.

 

Once that was taken care of, as Heavy attempted to contact their gracious employers to obtain a new contract, Jeremy the Scout was free to do as he pleased. He could have wandered around the base, cleaning the evidence of various fits of insanity from the house. Or he could have made friends with the other mercenaries he hadn’t had a chance to talk with yet, like Heavy or the Demoman. Or, hell, he could have found out exactly what being the new Scout entailed, Spy didn’t care. He had options, was the point, he was not married to one activity or another. He didn’t need to do anything in particular. He did not, by any means, need to follow the Spy around their house as he went about his business, around half a meter back in complete silence like a pink shadow.

 

It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t noticed him so suddenly, or if he had not taken so long to notice him.

 

If he had noticed a flash of pink out of the corner of his eye at dinner or heard footsteps behind him as he walked to his room, or even if the kid had tapped him on the shoulder before he locked the door and began trying to get sand out of his suit, then Spy could have retained some semblance of dignity when he finally realized he was there.

 

But, no.

 

He had kicked off his shoes and removed his jacket, beginning the long, rather tedious process of trying to get the sand out of it. He gave a quiet sigh as the gritty itch that came with said sandy garment went away with its removal. He shook and shook and shook his jacket, but gave up when his arms became sore after about twenty minutes. He hung it up on a nearby coat rack, though he knew the sand was not gone. The sand was never truly gone. He’d learned that long ago.

 

Next came the gloves, which were subsequently de-sanded, to the best of his abilities, and finally, he peeled off his mask. This was the worst of it. Sand that had somehow gotten into his mask cascaded down his shoulders and around his feet, creating a small desert in his room.

 

The desert moved.

 

Spy froze.

 

The pile of sand at his feet shifted again, and Spy immediately jumped out of its way as it swept across the room towards… yes, you guessed it, Jeremy the Pearl-Scout. He stood with his hands out, and gestured once the sand had congregated in a perfect circle around his own feet. With a sweep of his hands, the sand swirled upward, taking the shape of… Jeremy himself. It was not a full-sized version of Jeremy, there was not enough sand for that, but it was at least two feet shorter than he was. It bowed to him, and Jeremy bowed back, and gestured to the door. The Sand Scout nodded and walked away, out the door and presumably back to the desert from whence it came.

 

The New Scout stared at the door, seemingly oblivious to Spy as the Frenchman tried to existentially ruminate on what the hell just happened. He was frozen mid-step, eyes darting between the boy and the door through which the sand clone had just walked. 

 

He didn’t dare move for a moment. Couldn’t force himself to speak, blink, think, it seemed he may have forgotten how to breathe. And the most bizarre thing was, for a few moments, he couldn’t determine why exactly he was so upset. The sand was gone. Off the floor, where it otherwise would have stayed until the labourer fixed that cleaning robot, and yes, the method was a little bit… unorthodox, but it was gone. No longer here, causing the itchy, dusty feeling he hated.

 

Then why was his heart hammering in his chest like a hummingbird who had just downed ten cups of coffee?

 

The Scout ran a hand through Spy’s hair, and he remembered with a sensation like he was sinking into the floor. His mask was off. The boy had seen his face.

 

He shrieked, “ _GET OUT!!!_ ” So loudly he was surprised that nobody came running to see which member of the BLU team had broken into his bedroom. The Scout immediately drew his hand back (Taking the sand in his hair with it) and stumbled back through the door, looking terrified as he slammed it closed.

 

The Spy stood there for a second, staring at the door. Finally, he shakily sat on the edge of his bed and buried his face in his hands, as if that could undo the damage that had been done. He was still shaking with rage. He didn’t know if he was angrier with that stupid boy for mindlessly following him around, or with himself, the supposed professional of espionage, who should have at least seen the fucking ballerina following him around. Was he really that stupid? Was the damn pearl-boy really that stupid? Was _he_ really that stupid?

 

The heat of his rage was dulled only slightly by the chill of his panic. The boy had been in the room with him. Had watched him start to undress. Had interrupted him with… with… with whatever the hell just happened, like everything was fine, like that was normal, like he hadn’t comitted a cardinal sin of the team.

 

He’d seen his face.

 

The only person to see his face had been the Medic, and that had only been for a brief moment. He had refused to shower around the others, always waiting until the dead of night or whenever they would leave for town, never once daring to remove the mask that kept them from knowing who he really was. He couldn’t trust those idiots not to talk about who they’d seen beneath the red balaclava, and the second any word of him being here reached anyone undesirable, it was all over.

 

His girlfriend always insisted that it was a crime that he keep his face covered. “Like locking up the Lourve,” she’d said once as she’d ripped off the mask. Yes, he’d agreed, if all of the art was actually just disguised explosives. If _they_ thought that anyone had seen him around, then they would be knocking down the door to the house so fast his head would spin.

 

But then again, the boy would probably have some ridiculous McGuffin to deal with anyone who showed up. He’d whip out some kind of laser rifle and say he used it for “those tough, ground-in stains” or something. And a week ago, he would have scolded himself for thinking something so silly and outlandish. But compaired to seeing as the gritty, coarse, irritating stuff that had gotten everywhere over the course of his career on the team getting up and turn into their new scout, such an idea was damn near plausible.

 

He suddenly felt absolutely ridiculous. The sand. Their new Scout could control sand, and he hadn’t even paused to acknowledge it. For the first time, the sand was gone from his room. Not in his clothes, not in his hair, not even on the floor anymore, and he had the Scout to thank for that.

 

And how had he rewarded him? By screaming at him and pouting in his room for… for… _merde_ , how long had it been? Upwards of an hour, at least? That wouldn’t do. So, he stood up, put on his mask (feeling strange against his skin, free of its perpetual itchiness) and off he went to… no, not apologize, he was not going to apologize because he had not been wrong. Rather, he would explain why the Scout had been reprimanded and inform him that if he told anyone what he had seen, Spy would personally end him.

 

So, he opened the door, only to find the new Scout, kneeling on the floor just outside, patiently awaiting his return. The sand he had gathered had taken shape, a three-inch tall version of Jeremy, perched in the boy’s cupped hands.

 

Spy observed him dryly, considering several questions. Finally, he asked, “have you been here since I told you to get out?”

 

Jeremy the Pearl nodded. So did Jeremy the Sand Boy.

 

“Do you understand why I became agitated?”

 

He shook his head, looking up for an explanation, and Spy abruptly realized that he was not about to tell this boy how much danger he was terrified of putting himself and the others in, should his face be seen. Yes, things had become very strange over the course of a week, but as of today, he was not yet going to bear his heart on his sleeve to a boy who was still very much a stranger to him.

 

Spy fished quickly about his mind for an excuse. “Well… you see,” he began, the excuse already taking too long to come, “I do not permit the team to see me without my mask. No one, ever. I have gone to great lengths to avoid encounters without it on.”

 

The Pearl-Scout stared at him, but nodded as if he were listening, and believing.

 

“And you, my boy, just sent all of that down the drain. Years of hard work and planning and skulling about and forethought to keep my face a secret from anyone and everyone have just been undone by you.” He said the last word distastefully as if Jeremy was the least worthy person on the planet to finally see what he looked like. Which, to be fair, he was. He would have sooner unmasked himself to the Bushman than to this… ballerina. 

 

Regardless, the Pearl accepted his moderate untruth hook, line and sinker, nodding along as Spy spoke with a look of the deepest shame on his face. “Forgive me, My Spy. I never meant to dishonour you.” Seeing as he was kneeling on the floor, the sand scout in his hands did the honour of apologetically bowing to him again. 

 

The Frenchman glanced at the sand Jeremy, then decided the real Jeremy was more interesting. He looked terrified, as if he expected to be struck. This was odd, as Spy had made an effort to remain calm throughout their interaction, but perhaps his anger had startled the boy badly enough that he was still upset? That had to be it. The idiot just had a delicate constitution, that was all.

 

Finally, his gaze locked on the tiny man made out of sand, who looked up at him (or he thought it did, it didn’t have a face) and waved cheerily at him. “How did you do that?”

 

“What?”

 

“The sand. How did you do that?”

 

Jeremy looked at the tiny sand clone, like he was surprised to see that he was still cradling his copy. “All pearls are capable of psammokinesis,” he informed Spy, as if informing him that one plus one equalled two. “It is a basic function that permits us to better clean the residence, and on occasion assist in the production of other pearls.”

 

Spy raised an eyebrow. This was not the answer he was expecting… but frankly, he hadn’t known what he had expected. “How does it help with that?”

 

“Rather than waste time physically gathering the sand, if we can summon it to ourselves, we can clean-”

 

“No, how does it assist in the production of other pearls?”

 

Jeremy gave a soft “oh,” then looked down at the tiny sand Jeremy. His copy nodded and collapsed into a pile of loose grains in his hands, which Jeremy closed tightly in one of his fists. He covered this fist with his free hand and, with a soft grunt, pressed down on his knuckles. He reached out his hand to Spy and unfurled his fist. The sand was gone. In its place was a large, pink pearl. Not as large as the one in Jeremy’s naval by any means, but decently large and oblong. 

 

Spy looked at it, half expecting another scout to spring out of it. Thankfully, nobody came, but still, he tentatively inquired, “is it alive…?”

 

“Oh, stahs, no,” Jeremy replied with a look of shock and disgust. “Don’t be silly. This pearl has had no incubation process, and even if it had, any pearl it might produce would be shattahed immediately. Look how small it is.”

 

“Small” must have been a relative term as the pearl was about half the size of Jeremy’s, but Spy took that little speech to mean there was probably nobody inside this pearl, which was comforting. Still, it raised more questions than it answered. Incubation process? What the hell did that involve? Part of him didn’t think he wanted to know.

 

“I see,” he said, though he didn’t. He fiddled with the pearl for a beat longer than he needed to, but in the end, palmed it and attempted a more casual tone (surprising even himself with how natural it sounded). “Well, that explains it. Why don’t you run along?”

 

Jeremy the Pearl smiled as it dawned on him that he was not about to be destroyed for this infraction, and with a soft, “thanks, my spy,” he was off like a shot, and Spy was exactly how he liked to be; alone. 

 

Except now, he was alone with his thoughts, which tended to be the worst company. The Spy returned to the relative peace of his room, now abuzz with questions he had no hope of getting answers to. He set the pearl on his dresser and fell backwards on his bed, removing his mask once again and marvelling at how smoothly it came away, no longer plagued by the coarse, rough heat of sand that had worked its way in there over the course of a day’s work.

 

So… the boy could control sand. And there were multiple pearls. Who apparently assisted in each other’s… production, whatever the hell that meant. A process which, apparently, had not been applied to the rock that now resided on his mahogany dresser. And aside from the other weirdness, that was precisely all that they knew about him. At least they knew definitively that he was indeed he.

 

Spy smiled softly to himself. He had just gotten more information about the boy and his skillset in less than an hour than Medic had in nearly three of his circular questions. Of course, all in a day’s work for a master of espionage such as himself. Not to mention, the boy clearly recognized him as being superior among the mercenaries. After all, of all of them, he had chosen to follow him. Had chosen to run his fingers through Spy’s skunk-coloured hair and take the sand that refused any washing or brushing he’d attempted to get rid of it. Maybe he was trying to get on Spy’s good side, just in case he ever had to betray the team he now resided on.

 

 _Or maybe he just likes you,_ suggested a voice in his head.

  
_Shut up,_ he told it.


	5. Chapter 5: Batter Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jeremy has his first encounter with the BLU scout, and breaks pretty much every rule he was raised with, much to the dismay of his self-deprecating inner monologue. But he can summon a weapon now, so that's not nothing.

There were many consequences to not having a Red Scout, as the team had found out over the course of their time together. For instance, the BLU team could capture their points and push their carts twice as fast, and there was little they could do to stop them. And there was always the risk of an attack blindsiding you without having your own speedster to call in as backup. But the main issue at the moment was that, as a result of having no other Scouts on the team, nobody was able to train Jeremy in their Scout ways.

Granted, they were all generally familiar with the class and its function, and there were training grounds available (a batting cage, a track, and some straw dummies on wheels) but no one could give Jeremy instruction beyond, “here’s a gun, here’s a frying pan, go nuts.”

Jeremy was fine with this. He was, after all, a pearl. And a good pearl did whatever her owners needed her to do. A good pearl was versatile, and was always ready to please wherever it was necessary. Even if no one could tell her exactly how to do it.

He knew where the Scout Training Grounds were. He had been shown where they were not long after the incident in Spy’s bedroom. So, like the good pearl he was,

_-No you’re a terrible pearl you deserve to be broken you miserable off coloured clod you’re a bad pearl-_

He marched out to the track, frying pan in one hand and one of those long, exploding sticks in the other. The planet’s sun was intense and hot, beating down upon the sand beneath him like the forges and spires of the bismuths. The ground was hot, but not unbearable just yet.

He stepped onto the track, feeling as if he were in the process of committing some great crime. Which was stupid. He was a scout now, and from what he could tell, not only was he allowed to use this space, but he was implored to use it. Still, he glanced around nervously from left to right as he walked around the track, gripping his metal piece of cookware like a lifeline.

“KILL THEM OLL!!!” Boomed a tinny voice on him. A very large straw figure, meant to represent the Heavy was approaching him rapidly, with some sort of primitive recording device strapped to its chest. Jeremy barely registered this when he unleashed a battle cry of “ _yiiiiiiii!!_ ” and swung his pan, barely stopping one of its massive, itchy fists from colliding with his face. It landed in the middle of the pan, and he shoved it away with all his might before bringing it down as heavily as he could upon the shapeless blob that was its head. The straw dummy came apart and lay on the track, straw blowing away in the hot wind.

He turned from the dummy, and moved on. Still walking.

After fifteen more minutes of this, he didn't want to walk anymore. Slowly, he allowed his feet to fall quicker, with far swifter purpose. He began to break into a jog, and then that jog sped up into a run. As he ran, he felt a rush of terror, but also a rush of joy.

“Oh, Pink, you look so silly when you run,” Blue had chastised him more than once. “A good Pearl never runs, she walks. You must be poised, you must be graceful, you must…” and by this point, Jeremy had always stopped listening, but the point was the same. He had to walk. He could not run.

But… He liked to run.

He wanted to run.

_Good pearls don't run, no running in the palace, what if Blue and Yellow could see you, good pearls don’t want things, what would your diamond think of you, what are you even DOING out here, they'll find you any day now, what are you DOING-_

“Scout!”

He skidded to a stop. The sky was different. When he had come out, it had been a medley of pink and orange and purple and blue. Now, it was bright blue, with its singular day star hanging directly overhead. He wondered how long that was, the human timepieces made no sense to him. The pearl skidded, stumbled, narrowly avoided falling flat on his face, and turned in the direction from which the voice had come.

The Engineer stood approximately twenty feet away, holding what looked to be a tray of organic matter.

“Slim says ya been out since dawn,” he said with a kind of warm concern in his greeting. “That right?”

“Yes, my Engie,” the pearl assured him quickly.

He didn't look very assured. The concern etched deeper as he asked, “didn't see ya at breakfast. You come in?”

“No, my Engie.” He still couldn't understand the purpose of the ritual that his organic compatriarts seemed to partake in every morning, but he had been careful to avoid it. He was so quiet that the humans rarely seemed to notice.

Which was well enough. A good pearl was seen and never heard.

_You aren't a good pearl, you can never be a good pearl, that won't change if you're a diamond’s pearl or an organic’s pearl or a quartz’s pearl-_

Dell’s concern etched somehow deeper as he handed Jeremy the organic matter. Some kind of meat that smelled of smoke and salt and cooked fat. He had seen Dell doing… something with it before, which was the only clue he had as to its function. If he hadn't, he would have assumed it was some sort of garbage and thrown it away. He was also handed a cool, clear cylinder of some kind, made of something clear and flexible.

“‘Spect to see that eaten when I get back out here, y’hear?”

“Yes, m-”

He held up one hand, effectively silencing the boy. “Just Engie. Okay?”

“Of course, m-... uh, Engie.”

This seemed to satisfy the problem-solving Texas native, and he turned and went back inside. But somehow, the new scout still felt as if he was being watched.

Okay. Eating. He'd seen the humans partake in the activity more than once, and it seemed easy enough. He picked up a piece of the matter and bit into it. The edges fractured, and nearer to the centre it was tougher and not as easy to break off. And… admittedly, the sensation in his mouth was rather pleasant. They tasted exactly how they smelled, this was really freaking good-! I mean, the sensation of consumption provided him subjective pleasure.

_Language, you stupid pearl, can't you at least use proper language, those aren't real words you moronic little off-colour-_

Alright, chewing was a part of this process. He thought it involved working ones jaw somehow. As he ground his teeth together, the life-sustaining matter slowly began to break down. As it did, it became a viscous, gooey paste in his mouth, which slowly became less and less subjectively pleasurable. The pleasure reached a subjective- actually, no, I'm pretty sure this is objective. It was objectively gross what he held in his mouth, but suddenly, he realized that the final step in this eating process made the whole thing completely non-negotiable.

He was going to have to push this glop down his throat.

Against every instinct he had, against every refinery and dignity he had been taught and programmed, he spat the chewed up dead animal onto the ground beside him. The rest went into his pearl as he shuddered. That was, if possible, the least enjoyable experience of his… no, you know what, fuck it, that was _terrible_. It was obvious that whatever humans got from eating, he couldn't get it.

He spat the remains of the awful that lingered in his mouth onto the ground, where they landed with a sickening splat. Friggin’ gross.

 _Can't you at least pretend to have dignity? You claim to be of the_ Diamonds _?_

Jeremy went back to running.

~~~

“ _Attention; match begins in ten minutes._ ”

The booming voice from the sky still sent a wince across the Scout’s face, even as he was assured that the administrator nearly never interacted directly with them. What an administrator was or what she was made to do was not explained to him. He hoped it wasn't relevant to being a scout.

What was relevant to being a scout, he discovered, was waiting in what others called “resupply” at the start of each day, waiting for the countdown to finish so they could all sprint out the door at top speed and he would do whatever was screamed at him. This was completely fine, except that the Soldier seemed to be staring him down with increasing scrutiny each and every day.

Finally, as he sat on a bench, anxiously waiting for the voice to announce the beginning of the match, the soldier approached him, looking utterly unamused. Scout smiled serenely, folding his arms up into the Diamond Salute. It was as if he hadn’t said anything.

“Uh… is there something wrong, my Sir?”

“That tutu is not mercenary issue, Son. You were provided with a uniform, weren’t you?”

Jeremy blinked; uniform? The word had never appeared in any data banks on homeworld, the humans hadn’t used it before, and the only thing he had been given had been that weird bundle of fabric. Strange, it was like pink, but if you stripped away all the white, like the rubies, and-

Oh.

He summoned the pile of cloth that Heavy had given him upon informing him he was the new Scout. Soldier’s expression softened slightly. “Okay. Put that on, son, you look ridiculous.”

“What?”

“I don’t think I stuttered, Jeremy.” Soldier was suddenly merely a half centimetre from his face, growling deep in his throat.

“Jus’ do it,” sighed Engie from somewhere off to his left. “He ain’t never gonna let it drop.”

Scout uncomfortably shifted. “O-of course, m-my Soldier,” he replied shakily, suddenly very aware of how he’d seen Soldier rip people’s heads off their shoulders, drive his weapon between their eyes, and send viscera and debris spraying everywhere. He didn’t want to think of what he could do to his Pearl if he wanted to.

Soldier nodded and backed off, letting Scout examine the… “uniform.” It was unlike anything he'd ever seen before, but it wasn't complicated, like the gowns his diamond had stocked her room with. It looked like something a rose quartz might wear. So, he set it down and stood up.

The entire process took some trial and error, and honestly, if the team didn't know better, they'd think Jeremy hadn't encountered clothing before. Yet somehow, he managed to get the uniform on in some manner resembling its design function, even stuffing his skirt down the trousers, which looked funny but definitely served its purpose. He turned to Soldier, clearly seeking approval.

Soldier stared at him for a second, looked him up and down as if he was trying to find some way Jeremy could get out of the uniform as soon as he was out of sight. Apparently, he found nothing, and let the boy return to his seat with five minutes to spare.

Jeremy used these five minutes to observe the Sniper. He was so pretty. Prettier than the diamonds even-

_No no no no nobody is prettier than the Diamonds, how dare you insult the Diamonds by comparing them to this filthy little meat puppet-_

But he didn't walk with the presence of someone who was prettier than the Diamonds. Every part of the room didn't shimmer with his presence within it. He didn't have Jeremy announce his arrival into a room, nor did a chime indicate him similarly. Rather, he seemed inclined to linger toward the back of the room, behind other people or objects if he could manage it. But he was so pretty.

It should have been treason.

_How dare you call someone that beautiful treasonous, when you had the audacity to-_

_“Mission begins in sixty seconds.”_

His internal monologue finally shut up as the door to Resupply began to open. Jeremy beamed and immediately moved to the giant sheet of metal, which moved up with a loud, continuous grinding. Before it was even up all the way, he had his pan shifted into position, beaming with all the joy of a bunch of rubies that were about to fuse together.

“ _Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two-_ ”

He was out the door before she got to one. Immediately, several loud whizzing noises resulted in a cavalcade of ground-rattling bangs erupted around him. This was followed by the high-pitched popping noise that indicated the enemy Sniper had him in his sights. He didn't care. He just dodged and ducked and rolled along the ground and kept running, kept sprinting to… to…

Wait, what was he supposed to be doing again?

Of course you don’t know, you idiot. You don’t know anything. You shouldn't even be here. You're just a pearl.

“To the left!!” Boomed Heavy, and when Jeremy looked, there was a large, red capture point that… yes, that's right, he was supposed to keep the BLU team away from it, and if they got it, he was supposed to beat them up with his frying pan!

He stepped on top of the capture point, the uniform admittedly restricting the way his form could move. He didn't like this… this strip cutting into his waist, or the heaviness they added to his body. The way the material rubbed against him was almost as bad as those God-awful ball gowns-

“ _Major league!!_ ”

Jeremy turned, swinging his pan as he did so. It caught on a club made of wood with a very loud noise, sending the owner of the club stumbling, confused. It was another human, small and skinny, like him, and he wore the same sort of uniform that Jeremy had donned, except it was blue. The human inside of it tumbled off of his capture point, rolled, and climbed back to his feet looking angry.

“Din’t ‘urt!” He barked, charging Jeremy again. He stepped to the side, spinning on one foot (with some difficulty) and decking him upside the head with a resounding _CLONG!!!_ As he swung his arms, however, the red fabric covering his torso split open from the tip of one arm to the end of the torso with a _skri-i-i-i-i-t-t_ that made him wince. Oh god, this wasn't gonna end well, when the soldier saw him he was gonna-

 _BOOM_. Jeremy ducked to the ground, shielding his face from the flash of light and noise that took off his hat. The Scout had shouldered his shotgun, which he’d learned was a long, metal cylinder the humans used to kill each other, and was currently aiming it directly at Jeremy.

“Nice moves, Pinky,” he said in a low voice with a smile that promised terrible things, “but I am the Scout here.”

The next shot tore through the bottom half of the outfit, narrowly missing Jeremy’s calf. There was now a massive hole in one of the baggy leg pieces, suspended by his compressed tutu.

“Gracious, this won’t do,” he muttered to himself. And he ripped the ruined outfit from his body, storing it in his pearl. Then, with a click of his fingers, his outfit shimmered and changed into a pink version of the uniform that he’d destroyed.

_Bad pearl bad pearl how could you destroy something somebody gave to you so selflessly-_

His hands formed a diamond-shape around his Pearl, which glowed for a few seconds. His form followed suit, and with a flash of light, he was standing there in a pink version of the Scout’s outfit.

The other scout stared at him, dumbstruck. “Holy crap,” he breathed, unable to rise from his position on the ground as he stared at the pink man in a state of complete disbelief.

Then he remembered what was happening and where they were, and grabbed his bat again. “What, ya think some pink glow-up is gonna make ya a scout?”

The bat connected with Jeremy’s legs, and he tumbled off the capture point, his pan rolling clumsily away. “This gig is waaaaay more than an outfit an’ a fryin’ pan, brotha,” he went on, slinging said bat around so it rested on his shoulder. “An-” a snicker interrupted him, “I gotta tell ya, ya just ain't cut out fa this.”

 _He's right_ , the terrible voice whispered. _You're not good enough to be a pearl. You're not good enough to be a scout. You're not good enough to be a Jeremy. Why don't you just sit here and let him poof you, you stupid little off-colour?_

Suddenly, Jeremy was filled with a kind of anger he hadn't felt before. This idiot… wasn't his diamond. Or his team. Or a quartz, or an agate, or what have you. It was just… a blue scout. Another scout. A person he was allowed to beat up. No… a person he was implored to beat up. An idiot who was talking trash about him, who wasn't like the abominable voice. He could beat up this guy.

He wanted to beat this guy up.

Jeremy pulled his feet up under his haunches, eyes downcast beneath his pink hat. Then, just as the bat went up, presumably to cave his skull in, Jeremy popped up, ten, twenty, thirty feet in the air. He came down with a scream that sent chills down the blue Scout’s spine.

“ _Shut UP!!!”_ He shrieked as he plummeted back towards earth, and the once-again awestruck scout. He didn't have his frying pan, he had no plan here, everything was about to go to shit. But then there was a flash of light, and he was clutching something in his hands. He didn't even look at what it was.

Jeremy swung The Something downward as hard as he could, just as he was landing in front of his opponent. There was a sickening cracking, crunching noise as it connected with his head. Something red splurted everywhere, and he saw something small and round fly from his destroyed head. There was a flash of yellow light, and he was gone, save for the stain of red and chunks of organic matter on the ground.

He huffed and puffed, rage coursing through him, growing weaker every second he was gone. Finally, he got it in his head to look down in his hands at the thing that he held. He was astonished.

In his hands, he clutched a smooth, cool to the touch cone of what appeared to be pink metal. The handle was wrapped in dark pink tape, and the end, which was shiny and pink beneath the gore, was now glistening in red.

Oh Stars. Oh Stars. Oh Stars. He realized with a thrill of horror what he had just done, and suddenly realized if he'd been seen, oh sweet paragon he was going to be broken. He wanted it to go away. He desperately needed to get rid of the evidence.

As soon as he thought it, the club was gone, vanishing in a shower of sparkles, not unlike the shield that she sometimes threw at him. The gore that had been stuck to it dropped to the ground with a splat, and the pink scout was left standing on his capture point, which was decidedly still red.

He looked around cautiously, but nobody seemed to have seen the horrifically disgusting faux pas he had just committed. So, he just rushed to where his frying pan had landed, picked it up, and stood petrified upon the point for the rest of the battle, resolving never to think about what he had just done ever again.

~

Unfortunately for him, somebody had seen the pink club. Sniper had been watching him through the scope all day, and had been steamed, for reasons he didn't really understand, as he watched the BLU scout attack their pink little weirdo. He had been about to blow the cocky little shit’s head off, but… well, it seemed Jeremy didn't need any help.

Christ, what wasn’t in that bloke’s belly button? Honestly, next he was gonna see that kid pull out a mop and start cleaning up the mess.

After several minutes, during which Jeremy decided he was not about to be destroyed, his gem glowed again and he pulled out a bucket, a mop, and several bottles of cleaning solution.

Lawrence decided that he had several things to discuss with their Scout, and that none of his answers were going to surprise him. Let's be honest, everything was on the table now.

~~~

Jeremy was out running the second they got back. _Bad Pearl, bad Pearl, bad Pearl,_ he chanted quietly as his feet pounded against the track, running his endless race to nowhere. No matter how fast he ran, he couldn't escape his own terrible actions, nor the fact that, no matter where he went, even to the farthest reaches of the Galaxy, he could still feel the anxiety that came with doing something wrong. And, even though she was bazillions of light years away, probably assuming he was broken by now, he couldn't help feeling like he was just waiting anxiously for her to return, and see what he'd done to his form, and if she found out about the club the _tantrum_ she'd throw-

“Oy, Jer, ya got a sec?”

Jeremy skidded to a halt, a task which nearly sent him flying into the ground; already he missed the shoes on his previous form. They had been far slicker. Good for stopping easily.

He turned and flushed. The sniper had been standing there, for who knows how long, watching as he raced through his silly breakdown. He was far too pretty to see his pearl like this, how selfish and silly. He saluted as his Sniper casually made his way toward him, only to have his wrist snagged.

“Don't do that,” he said calmly. “I ain't here for reverence, mate, I jus’ wanna talk.”

Well, this was new. Sniper never wanted to talk. Usually, as soon as the days work was done, he was back in that strange mobile housing unit until the next one. And he wanted to talk to Jeremy, of all the people he could've graced with his lustrous, luminous presence, he chose the off-coloured clod of a pearl?

“C’mon. Let’s walk a bit, yeah?” His tone was completely nonchalant, as if somebody this beautiful could just talk to a pearl this terrible and have it be okay. Would they break him, whatever the equivalent was for humans? Would they have him replaced?

A tug at his wrist. He and Sniper were walking, side by side, his wrist clutched in a firm, but gentle grasp. He tried to walk just behind but was tugged alongside his Sniper. Jeremy was walking next to him.

_This isn't done, no no no no no, what are you doing, you have to stand behind, never closer than a foot behind, are you even trying anymore you stupid piece of dirt-_

“So,” Lawrence finally spoke after what felt like forever. “I saw ya out on the field today.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Holy smokes.”

Jeremy felt as if he'd been dropped into a bucket of ice water. He didn't dare speak.

“Didn’t know ya had it in ya, lad. I been wantin’ to tell the spastic little gremlin to shut his trap since I started here.” He hesitated, as if trying to choose his next words carefully, before he spoke again. “Listen, about the thing with the bat-”

“I'm sorry.” Good pearls didn't cry, but he was right on the freakin’ edge here. Still, he kept his gaze away and his voice steady as he launched into his panicked, desperate apology. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I just- I lost the weapon you provided me, and I needed to defeat the opponent immediately,” he blinked hard, the burning sensation rising with the terror in his chest. “And I was unable to retrieve it within a reasonable timeframe to keep him off the capture point, and- please, forgive me, I-”

“Woah, woah, Jer, take it easy.” He had stopped walking, and had taken hold of the pearl’s trembling shoulders. “Listen to me. You listening to me?”

Jeremy nodded.

“I'm not mad. I just wanna know what the deal was with the pink bat.” Sniper gave his shoulders a firm squeeze. “You got all that, lad? You're not in trouble, I just never seen that before. I just wanna know about the bat.”

Not in trouble. Had Lawrence spoken correctly? Jeremy was not in trouble? That had not happened before. Ever. Whenever he dropped something and broke it, whenever she was unhappy, for one reason or another, whenever rose quartzes or her pets or pebbles were running up and down the halls of the palace, making a mess and ruining everything, it was blamed on her Pearl. Her stupid Pearl, she should've been keeping her busy, making sure she was distracted, making her happy, this was her fault, now Yellow and Blue were all pissy and Stars forbid if White found out about this. It was always the fault of the pearl. Pink Pearl.

But… Jeremy was not in trouble. Lawrence wanted nothing more than to ask for more information on the club he'd summoned.

“Of course, my Sniper,” he agreed quietly, not wanting to feel relief just yet. “... what would you like to know about it?”

The tone he'd struck must've been the correct one, because Sniper released him, and stepped back to observe him. “I'd like to start with seein’ it again, if I could. Only got a glimpse of it through the scope, so it'd help if you could maybe bring it out?”

“Uh, I'd like to, but I'm not completely sure how I did it myself,” he admitted with a scratch at his neck and a tentative glance away.

“Ah. I see.” He glanced around the training grounds, chewing his bottom lip as he thought. “... alright, lessee here… uh, how about you try to hit me?”

“Excuse me?!” Jeremy stumbled back, looking as though Sniper had asked him to extinguish the sun. “You saw what that did to the scout, what if that happens to you, too?!”

“Jus’ don’t bring it crashing down on my noggin from twenty kilometers up, mate,” the sharpshooter shrugged nonchalantly. “Really. All ya gotta do, and my brain’ll stay right where it is.”

Jeremy whimpered, chewing his bottom lip.

“Come on, respawn’ll pick me up later. Just- look, try swinging your arms like you’re swinging it, you know, like-“ he likes swinging a bat. It was admittedly a stupid idea, but Lawrence didn’t have a better one.

After a few seconds, Jeremy decided he didn’t either, so he drew his arms back, grasped an invisible bat, took a few steps forward, and closed his eyes.

His bellybutton glowed. He felt his hands grip something, and-

_SHLOCK!_

“ _Bugger!!_ ”

His eyes popped open. He was grasping something sticky and slimy.

Sniper was wiping some kind of goop from his face. It wasn't the frightening, angry red goop that had sprayed so violently from the enemy scout’s face, but rather, it was slimy and sticky and vaguely green, and covered his face in a sort of splat.

Jeremy looked down at the cold, gross thing he was holding. And immediately he wanted to destabilize his own form.

In his hands was a very large, bug-eyed, organic creature with no limbs and a wide mouth, strange flaps on either side of its head, wrapped in a sheet of something that crinkled loudly under his fingertips (at least this kept the sludge off of him).

“Mate,” Lawrence spluttered, unable to move for a second, save for stumbling back, “that was a fish. You just hit me with a _fucking fish_.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, swiftly stowing the fish away. He replaced it with a clean, dry towel, which he immediately handed to Sniper ( _you got slime on it you stupid, useless little off-colour, are you even trying?_ )

“‘S’okay,” he grunted into the rag, though he couldn't really say he'd ever wanted to experience being hit in the face with a fish. “My fault. Dumb idea. I have been wondering what happened to last Tuesday's dinner, so thanks for that.”

Jeremy’s face felt hot. He stared firmly at the ground, feeling incredibly guilty he'd sullied such a pretty, perfect face, so pretty that she would have broken him immediately if she'd seen him, and felt like the miserable lump of dirt he was.

“Right, so that didn't work.” He tossed the towel to the ground, coating it in a not insignificant amount of sand. Then he turned with a smile that could’ve passed for playful, had one not considered the circumstances. “Okay, why don't we try something a little more… proactive?”

~~~

“Just stand still and make like you’re swinging!”

Jeremy wanted nothing more than to run. Why was it that that was the one thing Sniper had forbidden?

_Gee, I dunno, maybe it’s cuz you hit him with the grossest thing ever? Ya stupid pearl._

As much as he hated the voice on the best of days, Jeremy had to give it this one. This was completely his fault. He had nobody to blame for this thinly veiled punishment, veiled as an attempt to get him to bring the club back out.

Sniper’s plan was simple; he’d retrieved a bag of white spheres with red cracks all over them from a box behind the cage he was currently standing in front of. He then stood Jeremy on a mound of dirt, and marched to the other end of what he called “the diamond,” (which caused Jeremy to barely suppress a shudder) and instructed him to concentrate as hard as he could on swinging his bat, imagining the way it felt in his hands, pretending he was swinging it and so on, as he was planning on throwing the tiny spheres directly at him.

“My Sniper,” he called out, though he was sure his pleadings wouldn’t be heard, “is this really the best course of action?”

“I ain’t got a better idea,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “Look, I ain’t gonna hit ya, alright? Just pretend you’re swingin’, and if you get scared, we’ll just stop, yeah?”

He sounded so genuine, Jeremy almost believed him. But he wasn't dumb.

_Yes, you are, do you even believe that, you didn't even know what a uniform was until this-_

She had always made it a point to ask for a colony and get oh so very upset when they told her no, or drag him along to the garden for hours of fun, or force him into those dresses whose itch he could still feel burrowing into his every particle, right after he'd fucked up. Always right after he'd fucked something up. He may have been a miserable little off-colour, but still, he could see the pattern.

And now, he'd hit the prettiest person there with possibly the grossest thing on this ball of mud.

This was a perfectly fair punishment, in all honesty.

However, he didn't have long to mull on this, as Sniper wound up with one of the orbs, picking up one foot and yelled “Heads up!” And then the orb was spinning towards him at roughly 80 kilometers per hour.

This was obviously terrifying, and the first time he did this it sent the Pearl flinching more than it did attempting to summon his club. He couldn't help it; thousands of years of dodging and ducking as she threw whatever was in her hands, on the shelves, or just nearby, had sharpened his instincts to dodge, not deflect.

Needless to say, the first ball soared past his head and rattled the chainlink behind his head.

“You okay?” Sniper called over, the concern sounding genuine. But Jeremy knew it wasn't, it couldn't be, it wasn't possible.

“Of course, my Sniper,” he called back with a weak smile, because this was the correct answer. Even when your body felt close to breaking, even when you were crying so hard you didn't have anything left to cry, and they weren't even your tears, when someone asked if you were okay, you always said yes, because good pearls didn't let anyone see when they were cracking.

Sniper looked somewhat disbelieving, but continued to throw the orbs. A few of them pelted his body, leaving throbbing welts that, thankfully, didn't leave too visible a mark. But no matter how many balls were thrown, no matter how much he swung his arms, no club appeared. Why? Why wouldn't it appear? All he had to do was pull it out, and these terrible little orbs would stop being hurled at him. Why was he so scared? Why was he so wrong? Why couldn't he do anything right?!

“My Sniper, this isn't working!” He finally cried, just as one of them clocked him in the side of the face, and ow. But he didn't dare say anything. Good pearls don't say anything, even when it hurts. But you're not a good pearl.

Sniper sighed, not entirely certain he believed Scout’s insistence that he was okay. “Yeah, no shite. Well, I’m stumped,” Sniper said after a while, graciously tossing aside the final few balls. “Alright, let’s head in, maybe we’ll think of something w- oh, fucking bugger!!”

Jeremy didn't see the issue. Sniper had taken a few steps away from him, and his foot had caught on a line of thin, clear string that had been buried in the sand.

Jeremy didn't understand what Sniper was so concerned over; after all, he was far too valuable to be destroyed, and even if he weren't, the damage seemed easy enough to conceal. He moved to kick some sand over it, but Sniper quickly pushed him back, looking terrified.

“ _Don't_ , ya fuckin’ drongo, Christ, it might not’ve gone off,” he was speaking in a frantically hushed tone, eyes darting frantically about. “Ohhh bloody fuckin _hell_ , I’m gonna _kill_ Truckie.”

Jeremy didn’t dare move. Sniper seemed completely fine with that, one of his arms clutching his as the other defensively weld his blade. After a few tense, endless moments, however, he relaxed and allowed the shining curve of grey to lower.

“Right… I think we’re alright,” Lawrence assured as he finally exhaled. “Ya gotta be careful out here, lad, Truckie put out a bunch of booby traps in case we ever got a scout needed training. Keeps ya on your toes. An’ gives blokes like me who can't run fifty fucking kilometers an hour about forty-eight heart attacks.”

“That's…” Jeremy couldn't quite think of words for how weird that was. Humans actively tried to murder their own team members for the purpose of keeping them on their toes? And this was before he'd heard about the weird things they did to their physical forms for cosmetic enhancement. “... _gracious_.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sniper agreed, stepping carefully over the line to avoid tripping it again. “Lucky for us, he hasn't been out here in a while. No maintenance. Everything out here’s either manual or- _YEEP!!_ ”

He jumped backwards, a good foot in the air as a bullet whizzed through the air and landed way too close to him.

“ _I'm gunnin’ for ya, you mongrels!_ ”

They both turned to tape up in the direction the voice had come. There was nobody there. Just a sentry with a sniper rifle, mounted on the roof, with a recording device similar to the one on the Heavy’s dummy taped to the side.

“Fuck,” groaned Jeremy as the Sniper Dummy lined up another shot. Then he did something a pearl never, ever, ever did; he gave an order.

Luckily, Sniper happened to give him the exact same order at the exact same time.

“ _RUN!!!_ ”

He didn't need telling twice. The pink scout grabbed hold of the red sniper and, hand in hand, the two of them sprinted across the desert, completely negating the obstacle course. Unfortunately, this meant that they encountered every trip line, and subsequently every straw dummy of the team that Engie had set up came crashing out of its hiding place. And he'd made dozens of them. Soon, there were nearly a hundred straw and metal approximations of their colleagues rolling after them at top speed, each braying some pre-recorded message that had, no doubt, been obtained from different battles.

Their flight was chaotic. Jeremy lugged Lawrence along with all his might, not daring to look back at the cacophony of noise and fire and near certain demise behind them, as Lawrence stumbled along, just as frantic for escape as his pink companion, but with the annoying need for oxygen slowing him for more than either of them would like. But still, they ran and ran, each one as frantic to escape as the other. Jeremy could feel the sniper’s heart hammer beneath his grip, heard him wheeze and gasp for breath, but he didn’t dare slow down, didn’t dare stop.

To a point.

Until, abruptly, Lawrence cried out again and went tumbling out of Jeremy’s grip, hitting the ground in a dark brown cloud. Jeremy stopped and turned as quickly as he could, but realized with a sense of sinking dread it was useless. He had lost footing for a few seconds, that was all, but that was enough time for Jeremy to get too far away, but close enough to see clearly as his Sniper landed at the wheeled pedestal of the dummy approximating Spy.

Jeremy suddenly felt very cold. Oh. Oh stars. Sniper was about to be broken. Or, whatever the equivalent was for a human. Either way, this was it; Sniper was about to be turned into a pile of rubble and it was going to be his fault, because he was a terrible pearl who couldn’t even get Off-Coloured Defect right.

The voice in his head started up again, and not for the first time or the last, it was his voice.

You stupid stupid stupid pearl. Why? Why do you do this? Why do you wreck everything? The first good thing to happen to you in four thousand years, and this is where you take it? This is what happens to bad pearls who run and leave and steal-

Jeremy shut up the voice with a single word, spoken aloud. “No.”

 _No._ It was just one word, it was tiny, but it conveyed so, so, so much.

No, he'd never allow these things to destroy Sniper. No, he would not simply stand here and prove the voice right, no matter how often he thought it was. No, he would not be a passive little pearl, huddled terrified in the corner as her rage broke over him.

The things that terrified him had done enough fear mongering for one day, he decided, and it was time somebody put them in their freakin’ place.

There was a feeling in his belly he couldn't identify, similar to when he'd realized he was permitted to release his aggression on the enemy scout. Except this was less angry and more… focused. And just like then, he felt himself grip a cone he had not held moments before.

~

Sniper was, in all senses of the word, completely fucked. So this was what sent him through the respawn, not three days off from a new personal record? The remnants of Truckie’s weird hobby were gonna suffocate him under a mass of sand, as he sat with his leg throbbing on the ancient Scout training grounds, not even _a real bloody spy_ was gonna kill him before he could make it to sixty-three days?

Just his bloody luck.

As the spy dummy flopped toward him, Lawrence made one more frantic effort to stand up. But no such bloody luck. Those damned baseballs he'd dropped were now scattered all across the ground, making standing a Herculean task as the ground shifted and spun beneath him. Even if he did stand, if he didn't fractured something, he’d sure as fuck sprain something, and either was gonna be fixed by his flush through the respawn.

A trip which was coming any second now, judging by the glint of the spy’s butterfly knife, duct-taped to the end of an eagerly swinging straw arm that promised death. All he could do was scramble back until the sand he’d dug up made it all but impossible.

“ _You are an embarrassment to-_ ”

But exactly what the straw spy thought he was an embarrassment to, Lawrence didn’t get to find out. At the last possible second, Lawrence closed his eyes as tightly as he could, waiting for that poor substitute for a Spook’s knife to sink into his jugular.

But abruptly, he felt something. A sudden disturbance of the air, followed by the sensation of something just barely grazing him and knocking his hat from his head. Then there was a loud crashing noise, and the dummy’s tinny voice was cut off by the sound of metal being abruptly struck, plastic glass breaking, and recording tape ripping and tearing as it caught on fragments of the broken recorder and whatever had broken it.

Abruptly, Sniper opened his eyes.

Before him stood Jeremy, in his pink scout uniform, tags glinting in the sunlight as he raced from dummy to dummy, brandishing…

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “You did it.”

And indeed he had. The pink baseball bat carved a path of destruction through the onslaught of attacking straw, destroying everything it came into contact with and sending all of Engie’s tireless work up in a cloud of brown foliage.

As he ran, swinging his arms left and right with extreme prejudice, he stumbled more than once, the clunky, overly-plastic scout shoes catching the ground more than once. But he didn't care. Didn't stop. Even as he fell to the ground, dropping the bat (which vanished in a shower of sparkles) he just popped up, and landed on top of the Heavy, with the bat back in his hands.

Finally, after what was probably only a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity, it stopped. Jeremy stood there, amidst the remnants of the chaos and destruction, clutching his pink baseball bat, and staring at Sniper with a kind of uncertainty, the remnants of his adrenaline quickly fading.

Sniper stared at him. Scout stared back. He knelt down, looking at the bat as though he himself couldn't believe he'd actually summoned it. And as he stared, he felt a glimmer of pride flicker inside him. He had done this. Nobody could ever take this moment, or that fact, from him.

Finally able to take a moment to push the baseballs aside, Sniper sat up, and cautiously touched the bat. It was smooth, like aluminum, but it was warm, as though it had been left outside for quite awhile.

He grinned. “Not bad, Scout.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE BITCH.
> 
> Also  
> My buddy @truthart on tumblr made some art of Jeremy, look at it!! 
> 
> https://lizluvscupcakes.tumblr.com/post/186541989058


	6. Lessons In Biology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An examination reveals yet more puzzle pieces regarding the resident Pink weirdo. Yet, the pieces don't line up with any picture Medic recognizes. 
> 
> (Wanted to update before the decade ends.)

Jeremy was having way too much fun playing with his new toy. 

Pearls didn’t get toys. Diamonds got toys, because Yellow and Blue diamond thought it would shut them up. Spinels got toys, with which they were to entertain diamonds. Amethysts did. Rose quartzes (or was it roses quartz? He could never remember), jaspers and carnelians did, because without toys they would simply destroy the palace. 

Pearls were quiet. Pearls were obedient. Pearls didn’t run or fight or fuss. Pearls didn’t need toys, so pearls didn’t get toys. Besides, as Blue had assured him the one time he'd expressed this, pearls don't like toys. He would loathe the chaos and silliness involved with playing. 

But Jeremy was utterly delighted by this. His bat was wonderful. Playing with said bat was wonderful. 

It felt… right in his grasp. The weight, the grip, even the way it felt when he swung it, destroying anything in his path. Sniper had long since gone inside to do whatever it was he did, but Jeremy had been having far too much fun to even consider going inside. 

He wondered if this was the way the other gems felt when they played with their toys. He didn’t feel much like laughing, the way they did as they tumbled over each other for their weird little globes, or as She juggled for all to see, but at the same time, he didn’t feel as… hot as he did when he'd shattered the other Scout. There was a kind of fluttering to his emotions. A kind of levity he just didn't get with carrying out menial tasks. 

“Jeremy!” A voice called from the other side of his little sanctuary. 

The human version of a Rose Quartz stood on the other end of the track. He'd lost the jacket at some point, but still stood with a dignity and poise that couldn’t be denied. Possibly aided by the fact that he wasn’t weighed down by that big, heavy… thing. 

He immediately turned and raced toward him,  skidding to a stop as he neared the doctor and pulling his arms into a salute. “Yes, my medic?”

The medic’s mouth tightened into a fine line as he addressed him, and Jeremy already had an apology on his lips as he sighed, took hold of his wrists and took him out of the salute. “We have been over this, Herr Jeremy. You may address me as ‘medic,’ if you would like to use job titles, but adding ‘my’ is excessive.”

“Sorry, m- medic.”

“Not a problem, my friend. What is a problem? You have been out here for several days.”

“I have?” The measurement was always odd to him. Twenty four hour increments broken up into periods of seven, and if one passed by, then time was considered passed. Humans were always in such a rush, running about like rubies after a sapphire. 

“You have. You have also not been attending any meals. Herr Engineer has been keeping track, don't bother lying to me. Just tell me, when did you last eat?” The question was asked with patience, but a note of sternness that would have made water freeze. 

“Uh… well, you see, my medic-”

“When was the last time you ate, Jeremy?”

The medic’s gaze was impossible to meet. “... I don't like food,” he finally admitted. This felt like a terrible thing to say, given how much these creatures seemed to adore food and the process of eating itself, and yet there it was. 

It went over as well as he'd expected. Medic’s face contorted into confusion and… something. Fear, maybe. “What?! But you've been running for over 72 hours! How have you not passed out from dehydration?! Not to mention exhaustion, starvation, I mean, you just, I don't, how-?!”

Medic paced back and forth angrily, gesturing as he ranted about laws of biology and dummkoff junge or something like that as Jeremy stood there, awaiting dismissal with a rising feeling of panic. 

Oh god. Oh god. Someone as pretty as Sniper was one thing. This human approximated a Rose Quartz. One of them, she was dreadful, she could summon an ax and delighted in nothing more than showing off this skill mere inches from his face if he upset her. 

He “upset” her many many many times. 

But medic, what could he summon? Could humans summon anything? What if he had a weapon for disposing of bad pearls and Jeremy just didn't know what it looked like?

But thankfully, he either didn’t have a weapon or forgot he did. He spluttered for a few moments, but then finally blustered out of steam and just released a massive sigh. “Never mind. I had wanted the opportunity to examine you. Come.”

Jeremy obeyed without question. Each of medic’s strides were long and purposeful, which forced Jeremy to jog desperately to keep up, no no not in the house, good pearls do not run in the hallways. 

The Rose Quartz human muttered under his breath the entire time, glancing over his shoulder periodically to ensure Jeremy was still following him. Every now and then Jeremy would catch something like, “don’t know why nobody stopped you,” or “never would have believed,” bug other than that, nothing was said. 

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. He’d done something bad. Again. Why did he keep doing this?! Why do you always do this, pink, can’t you go five minutes without making somebody unreasonably angry? 

_It's because you're a bad pearl, you really shouldn't fight it so much, everybody knows you're bad, you should've just let her give you to-_

“Alright, let’s get down to business,” the medic finally said, flicking on the lights to the room he called his infirmary. A cold, metal room that always smelled of something sharp, for lack of a better term. He'd learned in exactly one time in this room that looking around was the single worst idea one could have here. “I trust you remember the procedure?”

Jeremy muttered, “yes medic” and settled on the cold metal slab that served as some sort of assessment centre. 

He watched, terrified, as Medic turned his back to him, filling a cylinder with water. 

“When you say, ‘I don't like food,’” he said it as if he still couldn't understand it as a concept, “does that include this?”

“You can eat water?” He couldn't imagine chewing it, or cooking it. Wouldn't it just turn into steam?

Medic suddenly looked very tired. “Of a kind. Look, I spend my entire day talking to stupid people, and I am very tired. Please, just re-hydrate. I will be right back.”

He handed Jeremy the water and walked off to gather… something. Jeremy wasn't sure he wanted to know. Either way, he took a swig from the offered container of fluid, and got in exactly one chew before realizing it… wasn't disgusting. It was pretty much the same as when he'd first put it into his mouth. Pushing it down wasn't even so bad!

Did lazulis do this? Was this the deal with water? Maybe drinking it gave them power over it. 

 _Oh don't be stupid_. 

“Should eat something, too,” rumbled a deep voice from behind him. 

Jeremy nearly jumped a foot in the air, and quickly turned around. The heavy, some sort of guard, was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, thumbing through a bit of tree squashed flat that, if the rumours were true, made you hallucinate fantastical tales of things that didn't exist. That couldn't exist. 

Heavy smiled and closed the thing, stowing it on a table. “You have no fat. You will not survive winter.”

“Uh… yes, my heavy,” he agreed dutifully, uncertain of what to do.

An object was thrown at him. Reflexively, he flinched and threw up his hands in front of his face, he hadn't even started screaming, there was supposed to be screaming first-

The thing hit his arms with a soft crink that prompted Jeremy to look down. He registered… colour. Plastic. Thin, almost filmy plastic that crinkled to the touch. And as he picked it up, it had definite weight to it… little pellets? Were they bullets?

“What is it?” He asked.

Good pearls don't ask questions, how dare you continue to bother him you ridiculous bumbling idiot-

“Is candy,” he toned simply. “Sugar. Easy calories. Eat, get fat, get strong.”

Jeremy looked between the thing he held and the heavy, trying to process the order. Heavy wanted him to eat. _Right now?_ Right now, it seemed. How do humans eat candy? The same way you eat bacon, I guess; open mouth insert stuff. 

Uh… if you say so. 

The thing crinkled deafeningly in his mouth as he tried to chew it. The pellets were shifting about as he tried to bear down on them, the chewing didn't even taste good, the little pellets within the crackling were far too hard, he was going to break his mouth-

Heavy began laughing. A deep, warm, merry sound, much like when he successfully defeated a foe on the battlefield. “Not what I meant,” he guffawed, taking hold of the bit that perturbed from his mouth. “Give.”

Jeremy spat out the crinkly nightmare, shuddering as it was withdrawn from his mouth. Still chuckling, Heavy tore into the packaging with one hand and took Jeremy’s hand in the other, shaking a few brightly coloured spheres into his palm. “You don't chew. They turn to sugar. Suck on them.” 

Jeremy obeyed, grateful the horrific act of chewing could at least be avoided. Holy fuck, this was friggin’ great! Better than the way bacon tasted, even! 

“You not get candy in Boston?” Heavy asked, giving Jeremy his bag of candy and returning to his book.

“We don't have anything like this where I'm from,” he admitted. If they did, it was reserved exclusively for diamonds, or at the very least agates, and he could never hope to get his hands on it. No pearl ever could. 

“Hm. Hard stuff. Had nothing like it in Russia for a while, too. Couldn't find anything like this.”

Jeremy had no idea what a Russia was, but he just nodded and pretended to understand as the little balls became ever smaller in his mouth. 

“Well, if there was stuff like this, the roses and the rubies probably would've kept it to themselves. Or Spinel would've never let me touch it.”

“Rose? Ruby? Spinel?” Heavy gave up trying to read his book. “These are…?”

“Oh! Uh, they served in my court, too. You know, keepin’ up the palace, makin’ sure… she was happy?”

Heavy considered this, then made a soft noise of understanding. “Your sisters. They did not like you?”

“Well, of course not.” He laughed, as if the question itself was silly. “How could anyone like me, I mean… look at me.”

Heavy stared him up and down. “Tiny man. Tiny, pink, but fine. What's not to like?”

Before Jeremy could answer, medic returned with a clipboard in one hand and a cart of tools that were sharp and, judging by the smell, doused in something alkaline. 

“Now,” he began, clicking a pen and staring at Jeremy as if he were a specimen about to be ripped to pieces. “Shall we begin?”

From there, it was all too bizarre to keep track. Medic and his array of tools, poking and prodding and touching and questions, several of which sounded like a sentence but weren't a sentence (“how long has it been since you slept last?” Humans slept, she got her resting periods, he didn't do that.), or just asked about things that didn't exist. 

“What is your blood type?”

“What's blood?”

“You're joking.”

Jeremy nodded no. 

Medic sighed and picked up something long, thin and sharp, focus etching into his face. “Well, I suppose there is no time like the present. Give me your arm, please.”

Hesitantly, Jeremy obeyed, resisting the urge to scream as the thing stabbed into his elbow. “Be still,” medic scolded lightly. Then his focus began to crumble in the face of something else; confusion. “Hm…” the pointed thing sunk deeper. It moved, and Jeremy bit down hard on his tongue. “Well, that's very interesting.”

“Is sumthin’ the mattah, my medic?” He asked, voice cracking and breaking in ways he didn't like. 

“Nein, nein, I'm simply having some trouble finding a vein. Let me just…” he withdrew the pointed thing, and finally, the minor confusion shattered into pure shock. “Vhat?!”

“What did I do, I'm sorry!”

“You should be bleeding! Why aren't you bleeding? Even if I didn't hit a vein, I should have hit some tissues, at least!”

Jeremy couldn't take it a second more; he drew his arm back and curled up tightly, face pressed into his knees as he frantically recited apologies, over and over, frantically trying to get the yelling, the anger, the confusion to stop. Please stop. Please just stop. 

If he looked up, he would've seen the confusion on Medic’s face go from indignant and affronted to frightened and apologetic. He made eye contact with heavy, who silently promised to discuss this later.

“Jeremy,” medic began steadily, “calm down. You haven't done anything.”

Sniffling, Jeremy withdrew from his cocoon and nodded. “Y-yes my medic,” he whispered at last. 

“I'm sorry I frightened you. I've just never seen this before. Most people bleed a little when you poke them like this. Do you understand?”

“No. No, I don't,” he returned bluntly, tensing as his defiance came without his approval. No, no, you silly pearl, you were off the hook!

“What do you not understand?”

“I… what's blood, my medic?”

Medic froze. His face was… odd. A bit passive. Like he was trying to load this new piece of information. “Blood is the red juice that flows inside us to keep us alive. Like this-” he turned the needle on himself, poked his finger and squeezed out a few drops of something red and shiny. 

“Oh. Uh, I don't think I have that.”

“You don't have blood.”

“No. Can I go back to running now?” 

“Well, ideally, I'd like to find something you like to eat.”

“Gave him candy, docktor,” Heavy spoke up.

Medic sighed; he supposed that would have to do for right now. “Very well, then. But don't tell Herr Engineer that I approved this, Ja?”

“Yes, my medic!”  He stood up, bowed with his arms crossed in that strange, angular formation, and then he was gone. 

When the boy was gone, Josef turned to his boyfriend, confusion and a mountain of questions piling upon him. 

“So… no blood type,” he recited, ticking off the new data points on his fingers. “No past medical history, no understanding of what surgery, blood, or organs are…”

“Also he has sisters.”

“Sisters?”

“Da. Ruby, Rose and Spinel. Maybe more. They all work to make their mama happy.”

Josef nodded, jotting down notes. “Hm, interesting… Misha, would you mind helping me gather my thoughts?”

Misha smiled. No sleep that night, it seemed. No matter. His doctor would be calmed if the information was written down. “Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> So... this is possibly the weirdest choice for a first story I could have posted. Nevertheless, I am taking requests for chapters in-between actual plot stuff, so if you have any ideas, please let me know, and I will do my best to make them happen! I already have a few ideas of my own, but I always want more. So, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter, and please stick around for more!


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